


Someday

by simkhalou



Series: Someday [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 120,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simkhalou/pseuds/simkhalou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst torture and death, Danny and Steve made a promise to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story set around the events of episodes 4.21 through 5.08. 
> 
> Starts out as Steve/Catherine and Danny/Amber(Melissa) but will eventually be Steve/Danny.
> 
> Warnings are in the tags.

## Someday

Chapter 1

 

The plane jolted, jerking Danny brutally in his seat. He was wide awake in an instant.

He felt a drop, a vague sensation of falling and knew they were losing altitude. Blindly grabbing for his seatbelt, Danny yanked hard on the long strap, tightening its hold until the buckle pressed uncomfortably into his hip.

There were no windows in this oversized tin can, no way of knowing if this was turbulence, the first stages of their landing, or if they were about to crash into the ocean — which one, Danny wasn't sure.

He suddenly felt trapped.

The military plane's fuselage was a big, open enough space to not make him feel claustrophobic. But it still was a metal box being shot through the air at six-hundred miles per hour, so Danny wasn't exactly a fan. He didn't particularly enjoy flying in general, but on this flight there were no monitors to show the plane's progress, no announcements from the pilot, and no pretty flight attendants serving him booze to calm his nerves.

Anxiously, Danny looked around. To his surprise, he found most of the handful of military personnel relaxed and dozing in their seats. There was one guy across from him who was awake and looking at him with a smug, amused smirk on his face.

Bristling, Danny decided that the plane was probably not crashing. He slowly blew out a calming breath; his heart was pounding inside his chest.

Straightening in his seat, he squared his shoulders against the stiff pillow someone had stapled against the wall of the fuselage to act as a backrest. There was another hard jolt and he hoped it was the landing gear.

Everything hurt, his shoulder and neck muscles were stiff and sore. His butt was numb.

Danny just wanted to be home.

He glanced over to his right.

The swelling on Steve's left eye had gone down enough for Danny to see that he had his eyes closed. For a moment, he hoped that maybe Steve was asleep. But then he noticed the tight set of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders, the straining muscles along his neck.

Danny let his gaze travel lower. He took in the strong grip Steve's right hand had on his left forearm, how he was holding it firmly against his body as if the sling wasn't doing a good enough job of keeping it immobile.

Danny winced in sympathy when the plane shook again.

He wondered if Steve had gotten any sleep at all. They had been on this stupid excuse of a plane for an eternity. It was clearly not built to carry people, at least not comfortably on nineteen hour flights. It was all military efficiency — the seats could be easily folded up to make more room for non-human cargo.

Danny would have given anything for a cramped seat in coach on a commercial flight right now.

Not that it would have made a whole lot of a difference to Steve. Physical pain aside, Danny knew he was hurting most because of Catherine. Leaving her behind in foreign, dangerous territory was at odds with everything that Steve _was_.

But they didn't have a choice. The two MAs had escorted them right up to the very seats they were sitting in right now.

A part of Danny wanted to blame her for dragging Steve into this whole mess, for making him hurt like this. But mostly, Danny was worried about her, too. Everyone with half a brain would be. She was all alone out there now.

This whole thing was absolutely insane. Steve had told him why she was doing this before he had left to follow her on her goddamn noble mission. And, to an extent, Danny understood, even admired her bravery and loyalty to her friends. They had once saved her life and now she was able to repay them for all they'd done for her. But Danny couldn't help but be reminded of Jenna and North Korea, couldn't help but see the parallels.

The circumstances had been different with Jenna, but ultimately, her motives had been the same. Loyalty, love. Someone who needed saving. And even though it had all been a lie, the result was the same. Torture, pain, unanswered questions. Last time, it had led Steve to disappear for weeks, searching for Shelburne.

Danny wondered if he would disappear this time, too. To search for Catherine. The threat of being thrown into the brig wouldn't stop him, Danny knew that much. He also knew _he_ wouldn't be able to stop Steve from going back to find her.

Maybe Catherine would come home before it came to that.

They hadn't heard from her again and Danny really hoped that she was all right. For her sake as much as for Steve's.

The plane suddenly jerked again, violently this time and Danny was thrown to the side as they abruptly lost velocity. They'd just landed, he belatedly realized and muttered a curse. A warning would have been nice.

Next to him, Steve was rigid in his seat, ramrod-straight back pressed firmly into the plane's wall. Danny could tell he was holding his breath and blew out a frustrated one of his own.

He couldn't wait to get Steve off this plane and home.

They taxied around the tarmac for minutes and as much as Danny wanted the plane to stop and finally get off it, he was glad that Steve had a couple of minutes to get his bearings. His breath came in short, shallow puffs now and his eyes were tightly squeezed shut. The landing had taken a lot out of him.

“Easy, buddy,” Danny soothed in a low whisper. “We're home.”

He resisted the urge to put a reassuring hand on Steve's thigh in front of everyone.

The plane was suddenly buzzing with activity. No one would have notice the small gesture of support; the soldiers didn't wait for the non-existent seatbelt signs to go out. They were preparing to deplane the second the aircraft came to a stop, gathering their gigantic backpacks and weapons with almost mechanic efficiency.

When Danny looked back over to Steve, the idiot was fumbling with his phone. Part of Danny regretted bringing it for him because Steve was trying to call Catherine again. Danny understood the need to make sure she was all right. But right now, he just wanted Steve to take a second, to breathe and to acknowledge that they had made it back home.

But none of that mattered to him right now; home wasn't where he wanted to be. Because Catherine wasn't here with him.

Danny reached over and closed his hand around Steve's and the phone in it. “Hey,” he said gently, “let's get off this plane first, okay?”

Steve glared at him defiantly, his eyes hard. Danny could feel the fist inside his palm clench tighter around the phone.

“Do you need a hand, Sir?”

Danny turned and stared stupidly up at the young Airman standing next to them, as much surprised by the question as by the gentle, sympathetic tone in the man's voice. Danny managed to offer him a tight smile. “We're fine,” he said, not unkindly. He knew how Steve felt about showing weakness. And even though Danny didn't consider needing a hand up after spending endless hours on a plane while injured a weakness, he doubted Steve would see it that way. At least not when it was him needing the hand.

The man gave a curt nod. “Take care, Commander,” he said and left.

Danny let go of Steve's hand and quickly unbuckled his seatbelt. Grabbing his bag and Steve's backpack from underneath the seats, he slung both over his shoulder and stood. He offered Steve a hand, hoping he would at least accept help from him. “Come on, big guy,” he said, forcing lightness into the tone of his voice. “Let's not overextend our welcome.”

Steve sucked in a shallow breath and pushed out of his seat, ignoring the offered hand. Danny frowned at the stubborn idiot and stepped around him to grab the elbow of his uninjured arm, steadying him. Steve could be pissed about the phone thing if he wanted to be but Danny wasn't having any of his stoic, pigheaded bullshit right now.

“You good?” he asked, unable to keep the growing frustration with his partner from coloring the tone of his voice.

“Fine,” Steve muttered irritably and shuffled stiffly toward the now open ramp leading out of the plane's cargo bay. He was still holding the phone in his hand.

The warm Hawaiian wind that greeted them on the tarmac had never before felt this much like _home_ on Danny's skin. He inhaled a deep breath of the slightly humid air, feeling utterly relieved to be back here. It was dark outside and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen daylight.

Steve was already heading for the parking lot. Danny jogged a few paces to catch up with him. They walked the rest of the way in silence and Danny hated every second of it.

The silence between them didn't feel awkward, it just felt _wrong_. Steve was so closed off, so caught up in his worry for Catherine, it seemed impossible for him to even string together a sentence.

Danny wanted that moment back they'd had at the base in Afghanistan.

' _You owe me five hundred bucks from that poker game.'_

The comment had made Steve laugh. It had also made him cough and hurt, but the laugh, the easy banter, that was _normal._ The way it should be.

But right now, every attempt at conversation got cut short by one-syllable answers from Steve. Somewhere over the Pacific, Danny had run out of things to say. It almost felt like he'd left a part of him back there, like he'd brought back nothing but an empty shell.

As soon as they were inside the Camaro, bags stuffed into the back seat, Steve started fumbling with the phone again. The night was so quiet, Danny could hear it ringing as Steve waited desperately for the call to be answered. Minutes passed and nothing happened.

The last time Danny had tried to call Catherine, the call hadn't even connected. There were any number of perfectly reasonable explanations for it, like satellite positions and solar flares. But the call going through and her not picking up… it had to be a bad sign.

Danny flinched, startled, when Steve suddenly threw the phone onto the dashboard. It skipped, smacked into the windshield and then slid and dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Steve's breath came in short, harsh pants, he twisted in his seat with pent-up frustration and the apparent need to hit something. “Fuck,” he hissed and pressed his head back into the headrest, tremors making his arms twitch like a live wire.

“Hey,” Danny called, quiet but insistent.

“I never should have left her there,” Steve ground out through gritted teeth and then slammed a fist against the Camaro's door.

“Hey,” Danny tried again, more urgently this time. “We didn't exactly have a choice.”

“What if she —“ Steve started but then cut himself off. It was like he couldn't make himself finish the thought. And he didn't need to, Danny knew where his mind was going. Catherine in the hands of the Taliban, being tortured and worse.

“I'm sure she's fine,” Danny tried to assure him softly. He was aware that they were just empty words but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He hated this, hated feeling so helpless.

“Then why doesn't she answer the damn phone?” Steve's voice was loud with anger and frustration, hoarse with pain. All Danny heard was fear.

Steve was still looking straight ahead but Danny could see his glassy eyes were now swimming with tears.

He wanted nothing more than to give Steve an answer that didn't involve torture or death but he came up empty.

“She will,” Danny promised instead, his voice barely a whisper.

Steve drew in a shaky breath. The muscles in his neck flexed and he set his jaw. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed — it looked like he tried to swallow down the emotions. Danny knew Steve was shutting down, throwing up defensive walls. He was probably already trying to figure out a way to get back to Afghanistan under the military's radar to find Catherine.

Danny wanted to tell him no. Don't do that, don't shut me out. Don't do anything stupid.

He was worried about Catherine, too. He wanted her home and safe and happy with Steve like they both deserved to be.

But letting Steve go back there to find her was not a price Danny was willing to pay. Which was selfish. Because Steve… Danny thought he'd offer himself to the Taliban without a second thought if it meant Catherine was safe. Leaving her there probably hurt him more than those bastards ever could. And still, Danny couldn't — _wouldn't_ — let him go back for her. He just got him back home and only barely so.

Determined to finish the final leg of the journey, _his_ mission, Danny started the car. He said nothing when Steve picked up his phone and tried calling her again. The call didn't even connect this time.

Steve then just stared at the phone for a while and Danny wondered if he was thinking about calling Joe, to ask him to call in some favors, find a way to get him back to Afghanistan. If anyone could pull it off, it was Joe. Danny couldn't help but hope he was out of white rabbits for once.

He finally pulled the car into the drive way in front of Steve's home. He put it into park, killed the engine and reached to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Hold on,” he said as Steve opened the door on his side.

“I'm fine,” Steve muttered, the badly suppressed wince as he moved contradicting his words.

Danny got out of the car quickly. When he turned around, Steve was already standing opposite from him, awkwardly reaching for his backpack on the backseat with his uninjured arm.

It went against every protective instinct in him but Danny decided not to say anything. Deliberately, he pressed his lips to a thin line.

He was exhausted, tired and heartbroken in a way. Seeing Steve like this hurt. The fact that there was nothing he could do to change it hurt even more.

All he could do was stand here any watch, with both hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants. He wanted to go over there and _help_ , the urge was almost overwhelmingly strong. But it wasn't what Steve needed right now. He was probably feeling impotent and helpless as it was. He needed space, to lick his wounds and call Catherine a thousand times until she picked up the damn phone and he knew that she was all right, on her way home.

He needed to go back and get her, bring her home, safe and sound.

But he couldn't and Danny could only hope that he wouldn't.

Steve stood stiffly straight again and threw the backpack over his shoulder. That had to hurt his ribs but the only outward sign was Danny's sympathetic wince. Steve's face remained hard, unflinching. He looked dead tired and hell-bent determined all at the same time.

Danny wanted to scream.

“You, um, you want me to come inside?” he asked instead. He couldn't just leave without at least offering.

Steve shook his head. “I'm good,” he said. “Thanks for the ride and… everything,” he added, not meeting Danny's eyes.

Yeah, sure, no big deal.

In a way, it felt like betrayal. The fact that Danny had just flown literally half-way around the world to get his ass back home and Steve was not even in his own damn house yet but he already wanted to go back there. Danny wanted to tell him that he was not doing this again, that Steve was on his own if he went back to look for her, but he knew it'd be a lie. He'd always go back for him.

“Go home, Danny,” Steve said, his hand digging into the Camaro's roof for support. The pitiful sight melted away most of Danny's anger.

He heaved a sigh and just nodded. The dismissal was expected but that didn't mean it bothered him any less. He wanted to make sure Steve ate something, had a long, hot shower, took some pills and then went to bed and slept for at least ten hours straight. But Steve wouldn't let him and Danny didn't want to push. It'd only end in a fight and neither of them had the energy for it right now.

Danny didn't want to bring up Catherine again but he figured she was all Steve could think about anyway. “Let me know when you hear from her,” he told him and wanted to add ' _when_ , _not_ _if,'_ but figured Steve had had his fill of empty reassurances for the day.

It was Steve's turn to nod silently. Danny thought about telling him not to disappear on him again, like he had two years ago, but he didn't. He hoped it was implied when he said, “I'll come by in the morning.” He forced a smile and added, “Get some rest.”

Then he watched Steve as he walked to the house and disappeared through the door.

Reluctantly, Danny climbed back into the car. He just sat there for a while, thinking that maybe he'd stay right here and make sure Steve didn't leave again.

 

» » » » »

 

The buzzing vibration of his phone startled Danny awake. He was disoriented for a second before he realized that he was still in his car, still in front of Steve's house. It was still dark outside and the lights were still on in the living room. The clock on the dashboard told him that barely fifteen minutes had passed.

Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, Danny pulled the phone from his pants pocket.

With the push of a button, the screen lit up. It was a text message from Steve.

_Cath called, she's okay._

Danny breathed out a deep sigh of relief. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He knew it. She was a big girl, she could take care of herself. She was okay.

It was like something inside him unfurled, making him feel lighter.

That feeling, however, was quickly pushed aside by questions. Where was she now? When was she coming home? Was she already on her way?

He glanced at his phone again.

_Cath called, she's okay._

That was still all it said. Succinct and irritatingly uninformative.

Should he text back and ask? A glance over to the house confirmed that the lights downstairs were still on, Steve was probably still awake.

Danny didn't want to send a text, though. He wanted to go in there and wrap Steve into a big hug and tell him 'see, she's fine, everything is fine now.' He wanted to see the relief he felt reflected on Steve's face, wanted to make sure he knew that he could stop worrying now and rest, recover. Everything was going to be okay.

But then lights went out inside the house and Danny decided that tomorrow would have to do.

Ignoring the questions and focussing on the relief that still coursed through his body like a surge of adrenaline, Danny started the car and drove home.

 

**to be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mentions of PTSD

## Someday

Chapter 2

  


Danny was still tired when he arrived at Steve's the next morning. He'd slept a little over seven hours and didn't feel like it was anywhere near enough. His inner clock was all screwed up by time zones, spending endless hours on military planes, and worrying.

He'd picked up some groceries on his way over, not sure if Steve had anything that was still edible in his fridge. He hoped there'd be coffee, though. He really needed more coffee. The two cups he'd drank hastily at home had been watered down and barely enough to get him into the shower. And Steve's fancy freshly ground French-press coffee was infinitely better than what his machine made anyway.

Not bothering to knock, Danny let himself in. The living room was empty. There was a laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch that immediately caught his attention. Frowning, he turned to check the alarm system. He found it disarmed. Steve probably remembered his promise to come by.

Danny glanced back to the laptop. Hugging the brown grocery bag to his chest, he craned his neck to get a better look at it. There were what looked like satellite images displayed on the screen. Empty land with a few clusters of houses scattered here and there. It looked like this could be Afghanistan. Danny felt something in his chest tighten and swallowed hard.

“Hey.”

Steve's voice startled him. Looking up, Danny found him standing in the door to the kitchen, wearing shorts and a t-shirt but not the sling. He was holding a steaming mug in his hand and looked wearily at Danny. The bruises on his arms and face stood out dark and ugly in the daylight.

“Hey yourself,” Danny greeted, pursing his lips at the missing sling. He decided not to comment on it. Neither did he comment on the laptop or whatever the hell it implied. Danny was tired of dealing with this messed up situation. He wanted to ignore it and not even think about what Steve was planning on doing about it. He wanted breakfast and coffee and to know that Catherine was safe and on her way home.

_Cath called, she's okay_ , Danny reminded himself. Maybe this wasn't what it looked like.

He heaved a sigh and hoisted up the grocery bag a little. “I brought breakfast,” he announced as happily as he could muster.

Steve stared at him. “It's 10:30, Danny,” he pointed out.

The tone was supposed to imply ' _too late for breakfast_ ,' but Danny didn't care what time it was. He was hungry and it was never really too late for breakfast anyway. Especially not at 10:30 am.

“So?” he asked grumpily and shrugged.

Steve drew his eyebrows together. “I already ate but knock yourself out.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the kitchen behind him. The movement must have pulled on the stitches in his arm because his face twisted into a grimace and he pressed his lips to a thin line.

Danny winced in sympathy.

Moving stiffly, Steve made his way over to the couch. Danny watched him as he carefully sat down in front of the computer. Steve set his mug down and moved to start typing. His face did the twitchy thing again when he raised up the hurt arm.

Danny rolled his eyes.

Stupid idiot.

What on earth was he even doing? What was he trying to prove?

Biting the insides of his lips to keep his mouth shut, Danny put down the grocery bag on the seat of the lounge chair and sat down on its armrest. “So,” he said, keeping his tone conversationally neutral and waving a hand at the computer, “what are you doing?”

The text message had said that Catherine was okay but… was Steve tracking her? Was she not safe after all; not on her way back?

“What's going on?” Danny added more insistently when Steve just continued to stare at the screen in front of him.

His fingers suddenly froze over the keyboard. He balled his hands to fists.

“Cath, she…” Steve paused, swallowing thickly. “She's still looking for Najib,” he said after a beat, his voice flat, carefully controlled. “He wasn't with the kids we found.”

Danny felt his gut clench. He stared at Steve. “She's going after him? Alone?” he asked, incredulous, before his brain caught up and he realized what this meant.

Catherine was not coming home. She was still _there_ and Steve was here and that was not how it was supposed to be because Steve— Steve would do everything to make sure she was safe, no matter where she was.

“Please, Steve. Please tell me you're not thinking about going back there,” Danny said, begged, hating how desperate his voice sounded.

When Steve looked up at him with an unreadable expression, Danny thought it was a selfish thing to ask of him. How could he ask him to just stay here and let Catherine do this alone. Trying to free a little boy from the hands of the Taliban in a country half-way around the world. Of course Steve was going back there to help. It wasn't even a question.

“You're not going alone,” Danny decided.

Steve opened his mouth to object.

“No, don't. Just shut up,” Danny cut in before he could utter a single word. “Look at you! You really think I'm gonna let you out of my sight again anytime soon? I'm not gonna let you go back there alone. And I don't care what —”

“I'm not going back, Danny.”

Danny nearly choked on his words and gaped at Steve.

“You — You're not?”

Rubbing at his good eye, Steve shook his head. “No,” he rasped out and then sagged back against the leather cushions, dropping his hands in his lap.

He looked resigned, defeated. And suddenly there was this small, tiny part of Danny that wanted him to go back there because this… this was not what Danny wanted either.

“What happened?” he asked carefully. Something must have happened. Danny had no idea what but Steve didn't just… give up. Not ever.

“Cath,” Steve said but then cut himself off, flinching. It was like the softness of his own voice had startled him. He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, it was in a much more neutral tone. “Cath thinks they moved Najib across the border to Pakistan. Omar Hassan has ties with the TTP, they've likely taken him to one of their training camps.” Steve stopped to frown darkly at the laptop. “Probably somewhere close to Peshawar but I can't get a confirmed location.”

Danny struggled to take in all the information because none of this was what he wanted to hear. He didn't want a goddamn status report. He wanted to know why Steve was still sitting here when he knew that Catherine was not coming back.

“She told me to stay here,” Steve added before Danny could say anything.

“And since when do you listen to what people tell you?” he blurted out, surprised.

Steve heaved an irritated sigh. “She's right,” he argued. It sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself. “She's got to keep an extremely low profile to avoid detection from the Taliban. And with the military blacklisting me… I just can't go. It's a tactical exposure that could jeopardize the success of the entire mission.”

“The success of the mission?” Danny echoed incredulously, once again thrown by the clinical analysis. This was crazy. How could Steve just sit here and rationalize this mess like he was running an op when the woman he loved was going after the Taliban?

“It's not a goddamn mission, it's insanity.”

“She has to do this,” Steve insisted.

“No she doesn't.”

“Yes, she does. And you of all people should understand why.”

“Me? Why me? I got nothing to do with this.”

“Najib isn't much older than Grace.”

It was a low blow and Steve knew it. He looked almost apologetically at Danny, but more than anything, his eyes were begging him to just _understand_. And Danny did. He did. He had always understood. There had never been a moment when he hadn't thought of Grace in all this. If anything, it made him appreciate more how lucky he was to be able to raise her in a stable, safe environment. But it was still not fair of Steve to say her name out loud, to bring her into this, to use her to make his point.

Danny rubbed a hand over his face and then raked it through his hair. The unfairness of it all didn't mean Steve was wrong. And what choice did Danny really have but to accept Catherine's decision, no matter how it affected Steve and, by extension, him?

Steve's pleading eyes were still boring into him. They made Danny wonder why it was so important to Steve that he understood Catherine's motives. It wasn't like Danny's disapproval would make her magically change her mind and come back home. It hadn't stopped Steve from leaving with her in the first place either.

No, this was between Steve and Catherine. Danny was just the one picking up the pieces after the fallout.

The thought made his chest ache in a funny, unexpected way. The burden felt too heavy to carry. He had no idea what to do about all this.

Clearing his throat, he decided to distract himself from thinking too much about his part in all this. “So what's this?” He waved a hand at the laptop again. “You doing recon for her or something?”

Danny absently realized that it would be an interesting role-reversal. Catherine out in the field, Steve running intelligence for her.

“Not exactly,” Steve said. There was a distinct note of relief in the sigh he exhaled. “Like I said, she's laying low. I don't expect her to make contact again until she and Najib are safe. I'm just trying to track her, see if there's any chatter.”

Danny had no problem reading between the lines of that statement. Chatter meant she hadn't managed to stay off the radar, that something had gone wrong, that she probably had been captured.

Staring at the laptop, Danny shook his head and asked himself if this how it was going be for the next days or maybe even weeks ( _months_ )? Steve sitting in front of his laptop, analyzing _chatter_ , trying to figure out if the Taliban were onto Catherine yet.

_Fantastic._ Danny voiced his frustration with a heavy sigh of his own.

Steve still just sat there, looking at the laptop wearily like he wanted to go back to his _work_ but couldn't quite make himself move.

Danny scowled. “What are you doing camping out here anyway? Sitting hunched over like that has got to be murder on your back, even on a good day.”

“It's not that bad.” Steve glowered at him but didn't move to actually prove Danny wrong.

“It's not that bad,” Danny echoed and slid off the armrest. His butt was going numb again. “You're a masochist,” he mumbled dismissively, letting Steve off the hook.

He had an idea about why Steve was in here, on the couch right next to the front door where he had a clear view of the lanai and the ocean and not at the desk in the study or at least at the dining room table. It was all about access points to the house and strategic defense positions, about being prepared and not being caught unawares.

Danny didn't know what to call it exactly. A touch of hyper-vigilance? Maybe even paranoia?

It had happened before. Not that Steve would ever admit to anything or talk about it. It was worrisome in a way, scary even. But Danny understood what this was. A reaction to being captured, to not being in control.

It'd go away as soon as Steve found a way to ignore the fear, put what had happened into the correct box, shelve the experience, lock it away.

Danny wished he knew how to help him deal with it instead.

Feeling helpless and tired and heartbroken, Danny stood and moved to retrieve his bag of groceries. “I'm making you breakfast,” he announced.

“I already ate,” Steve reminded him.

“You can call it an early lunch,” Danny countered over his shoulder, already half-way across the room. “I don't care as long as you eat it.” He dumped the bag on the kitchen island and then went back to pop his head into the living room again. “How do you want your eggs?”

  


» » » » »

  


“This is a damn shame,” Danny muttered, spearing another piece of French toast with his fork.

“I think it's fine the way it is.” Steve smirked at him and shoveled a huge bite into his bruised mouth.

“Fine?” Danny echoed indignantly but couldn't help but smile at the dork on the couch. “This is my grandma's recipe. This is more than just _fine_.”

“Then why are you complaining?” Steve swirled his fork around in an exasperated wave.

“Who doesn't have syrup? What kind of household are you running here?”

The unfiltered part of his brain wanted to make a comment on Catherine's influence, but Danny clamped his mouth shut before it had a chance to get out. He didn't want to ruin the moment. Steve seemed finally a little more relaxed, his shoulders had lost the rigidity and the dark smudges under his eyes seemed less pronounced. There was even some color in his cheeks that had nothing to do with burst capillaries.

“A health-conscious one,” Steve said, the irony of him munching on toast still dripping with butter from the skillet completely lost on him. “Just because it's not drowning in syrup doesn't mean it's not good.”

Danny rolled his eyes at the idiot. “It's missing a key ingredient,” he said, scowling at his plate. “I'd even settle for coconut syrup right now.”

“Syrup is literally liquid sugar,” Steve pointed out, his tone suggesting that it was supposed to be an argument _against_ syrup.

Pursing his lips, Danny studied him. “I know what your problem is,” he said after moment of consideration. “You've never tasted the real thing. Grade A Maple syrup. It's amazing, it's glorious, it's the best thing in the world.”

“I've had syrup, Danny,” Steve said around another mouthful of toast, frowning dubiously.

“That's what the corn industry wants you to think.” Danny gave up on his syrup-less toast and dug into his scrambled eggs instead. “High fructose corn syrup. They can make everything from that stuff.”

“Is this some kind of conspiracy theory you're working on?” Steve asked and then narrowed his eyes at Danny. “Have you been spending time with Jerry?”

“He was _your_ roommate,” Danny reminded him. If anyone had gotten too much exposure to the guy, it was Steve.

“He makes good breakfast, too,” Steve said appreciatively and then eyed the uneaten toast on Danny's plate. “Are you gonna eat that?”

“All yours,” Danny said, happily sliding the two remaining slices over onto Steve's empty plate.

The stupid grin he received in return made him think that maybe Maple syrup was overrated.

  


» » » » »

  


The half-eaten slice of French toast was silently mocking him.

Glaring at the stupid thing, Danny scrubbed furiously at the skillet, trying to vent at least some of his mounting frustration. He didn't even mind doing the dishes. Standing hunched over the sink for any amount of time was probably worse for Steve's back and ribs than the laptop on the coffee table thing.

No, it was the laptop on the coffee table thing that irritated him.

Steve had been devouring the leftover toast like it was the single best thing on the fucking planet, goofily appreciative grin firmly in place the whole time. Danny had been rolling his eyes at his stupid face and had secretly loved every second of it.

Then an alarm-thingy on the laptop had pinged. The toast had been immediately abandoned and forgotten, the grin replaced by a dark frown.

After some unsuccessful attempts at bullying Steve into finishing his food, Danny had eventually given up and cleared the plates.

The _tap, tap, tap_ that still echoed from the living room was slowly driving him insane.

The typing still hadn't stopped by the time he was done scrubbing every available surface in the entire goddamn kitchen. Giving the fridge a long look, Danny decided to clean it out since Steve probably didn't have the mind to do it himself. There was an old carton of milk that smelled funny, a gray lump of something that looked like it could have been a papaya in a previous life, and a couple of wrinkly old bell peppers that may have still been edible but Danny was not going to take any chances. Everything else he deemed safe for consumption.

The task took about two minutes. Steve was still _typing_ and now Danny had truly run out of things to distract himself with.

The clock on the kitchen wall told him that it was almost noon. It did not, however, tell him what day of the week it was — which was a shame because he really couldn't remember.

He decided to check his phone and found a text message from Kono. Work was slow, no need for him to come in today. She was happy they were back (Danny had called Chin from the base in Afghanistan and then had texted both him and Kono last night before he had belly-flopped onto his bed and immediately fallen asleep) and asked if they had heard from Catherine yet.

It was a weekday, apparently, Danny decided. Since Kono was at HQ and all.

Since answering Kono's question would require more than one sentence, Danny decided to spare his goofy thumbs and call her instead of texting back. She picked up on the second ring.

“ _Hey, Danny,”_ she greeted and he could practically hear the concerned frown. _“Everything all right? How's Steve?”_

“Fine,” he assured her quickly, “everything is fine. Steve is —“ He hesitated. The _tap, tap, tap_ filled the momentary silence and Danny scowled. “He'll be fine,” he snapped.

“ _You sure? You sound… annoyed.”_ She enunciated the word like it was supposed to be a euphemism for something else.

“Well, I'm at his house, so,” Danny offered as explanation. Him being in a general state of annoyance around Steve wasn't really anything that should come as a complete shock to Kono.

Her sigh was a little on the dramatic side. Then she cleared her throat. _“Have you heard anything from Catherine?”_ she asked seriously.

“She called Steve last night. She's still in Afghanistan… or probably Pakistan by now, I don't know.” Danny moved to the door while he spoke. He looked over to Steve, still bent over his laptop like the freaking Hunchback of Notre Dame. There didn't appear to be any kind of update, so Danny turned his back on him again. He was still pissed because of the toast. He didn't blame Steve per se though, he blamed the damn computer. “Anyway, she's still looking for the kid.”

“ _Alone?”_ Kono asked incredulously.

“Yeah.” Pursing his lips, Danny stared out the kitchen window. “Remind you of anyone?” he muttered, thinking back to the long months when Kono was gone to first run away with Adam, then lose him somewhere along the way, and then finally find him in the kitchen of a restaurant in Vancouver.

_Months._ The _tap, tap, tap_ reached his ears again and Danny didn't think he would even make it through a single day of _this_.

“ _Oh. No, it's not the same thing,”_ Kono said.

Danny huffed and settled a hip against the kitchen island. “Yeah, it kind of is.”

“ _I did what I had to do for Adam, and for me,”_ she argued stubbornly. _“For_ us. _”_

“And Catherine's doing what she has to do for the kid and his family.”

“ _It's not the same thing,”_ Kono insisted.

Yeah, Danny could see how it wasn't _exactly_ the same. But it was a kid in the hands of the Taliban, for god's sake. “What the hell is she supposed to do?”

Why was he arguing on Catherine's behalf anyway?

“ _I don't know.”_ Kono sighed. _“But… you just can't save everybody.”_

“Well, some people can try,” Danny replied wryly and looked back to the door. He couldn't see Steve from this angle, but the _tap, tap, tap_ told him he still hadn't moved.

“ _Steve can't be too thrilled about this,”_ Kono said after a beat.

“He's not.” Danny's gaze wandered around the kitchen and he scowled when it landed on the toast still sitting on the counter. “And neither am I.”

“ _Even though he would do the exact same insa— Wait!”_

Danny flinched at the loud smack. Kono had probably just slapped her hand down hard on her desk.

“ _Don't tell me he's going back there!”_

“No, no he's not,” Danny assured her, tearing his eyes away from the stupid toast again. He grabbed a jar of honey from the shelf that he'd spotted while he'd been cleaning. Tucking the phone between shoulder and ear, he popped the jar open and settled against the kitchen island again. He wasn't a stress eater. He really wasn't. He just needed something sweet after the syrup-less French toast.

“ _Catherine_ told him not to,” he told Kono pointedly. He was still not sure how exactly Catherine had managed to pull that off.

“ _And he listened to her?”_ Kono's disbelieving voice droned in his ear. _“You sure you brought the right guy back? That doesn't sound like the boss at all.”_

Danny rolled his eyes at her and dragged a finger through the clear, amber liquid. “I'm not exactly sure how she convinced him, but I'm glad she did.” He licked the finger clean, savoring the sweet, rich flavor. Not quite as good as real Maple syrup, but still pretty good.

Kono said nothing. The silence let the _tap, tap, tap_ trickle into the room again. Danny sighed, frustrated. “He's a mess. He's like a big walking bruise. He's got no business doing anything but rest.”

“ _But… he's not resting?”_ Kono guessed.

“He's Steve,” Danny pointed out. It was self-explanatory, really. If it wasn't for the laptop on the coffee table thing he would probably be in the office right now. “He's doing some goofy intelligence thing on the computer — with a concussion.” Or so Danny suspected.

The toast on the counter was still mocking him. Danny pushed off the kitchen island, grabbed the plate and dumped the whole thing into the sink. “He's being an idiot.”

“ _He's afraid of losing her.”_

“I was gonna finish that.”

Danny nearly dropped the phone. He spun around and stared at a frowning Steve standing in the door. The dark expression on his face made something curl uncomfortably in Danny's gut.

“I'm gonna have to call you back,” he muttered into the phone. He ended the call before Kono could say anything else and frowned back at Steve. “Everything okay?”

“No.” Steve scowled and came around the kitchen island to stand next to Danny. He looked sadly down into the sink. The half slice of toast had slid off the plate and was by now soggy with water. “I was still gonna eat that,” Steve lamented.

“It was cold and gross.”

Steve just shrugged. His right arm bumped into Danny's left shoulder as they both studied the half-eaten toast. “I think it was really good,” he said.

Danny found the comment uncharacteristically endearing.

“I can make more,” he offered.

Steve smiled brightly at him in response.

  


» » » » »

  


“You don't have to babysit me all day.”

Danny stopped to frown at Steve who was just handing over his empty plate. This time, the damned computer had kept its mouth shut.

There was a brief tug of war over the plate before Steve surrendered it to Danny. His eyes were still demanding an answer.

“What?” Danny stood up straight and glared down at his partner on the couch. “Now that I've fed you to your satisfaction I'm dismissed?” He huffed in outrage and walked toward the kitchen. “Unbelievable.”

There was an unmistakable grunt behind him and Danny stopped, turning back around. “Woah,” he called as Steve awkwardly pushed himself up. “What do you need, I'll get it for you.”

“Just keep walking, Danny. I'm fine,” Steve muttered.

He didn't look anywhere close to fine, not from where Danny was standing. He was moving with the grace of a ninety year old man with a severe case of arthritis. That couch was going to be the death of him.

“You don't have to prove to me that you don't need a keeper, you animal,” Danny told him, still with an edge in his voice, but the pitiful sight in front of him had softened his tone significantly. “Sit your ass back down, I'll get you whatever you need.”

“I need to get up and move around.” Steve stood next to the lounger now. With a hand on its backrest, he carefully stretched his back, grimacing.

“You need medication,” Danny decided and headed into the kitchen. He'd seen a couple of pill bottles in there during his cleaning spree. Maybe one of them was not a multivitamin or some other kind of nutrition supplement but actually something useful, like a muscle relaxant or a painkiller. He knew Steve was hiding the good stuff in the bathroom in case he didn't find anything in here.

“I don't need medication, I need fluids,” Steve said as he came shuffling into the kitchen. He grabbed a large glass from a cupboard and filled it with tap water. Danny moved to stand next to him, dumping the empty plate he'd been carrying into the sink.

“You can have both,” he offered.

Steve just gulped down his water. Danny scowled.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Irritated, he bumped his hip into Steve's thigh to get him to move out of the way so he could start on the dishes once again. Steve grinned at him stupidly.

After a beat, he sighed.

“You don't have to clean, Danny,” he said, his tone serious.

“No, no, I actually have to. Because watching you do it is going to give _me_ back spasms.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Well, like I said, you don't have to stay.”

“You want me to leave?” Danny cocked his head to the side and glared challengingly at Steve. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No,” Steve backtracked sarcastically. He inhaled sharply and set his glass down on the counter. “I'm fine, okay. You don't have to —“ He hesitated briefly and averted his gaze out the window. “I'm not gonna go after her, if that's what you're worried about.”

Danny let his gaze follow Steve's. He knew Steve wasn't going to go after Catherine. Even though every fiber of his being _wanted_ to, he wouldn't. Somehow, Danny knew that. He also knew how much it hurt.

“Maybe I just like making you breakfast in the middle of the day,” he said quietly.

It was enough to get a faint smile out of Steve.

“Back when the alarm on the computer went off,” Danny said and threw a quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of the living room, half expecting, half daring the damned laptop to interrupt him. “Was that— I mean, have you — Is there any news?”

The small smile faded. Steve slowly shook his head no. “False alarm,” he said, his voice flat. “Had to adjust some search parameters, the algorithm still needs work but…” he trailed off. “I'll have to do this properly at the office, I can't get access to all the resources I need from here.”

Danny was impressed. He knew Steve had spent some time in Naval Intelligence before he'd become a SEAL, but he didn't show off those skills too often. Danny had always figured that it was because he hadn't kept up with the recent developments in intelligence technology. But maybe he simply let Chin usually handle the computer stuff because he enjoyed that kind of work more than Steve did. Or maybe Chin was better at it.

Maybe Chin could help with this.

Maybe Danny didn't want him to. Because as sure as he was that Steve had his mind made up about not going after Catherine as long as there was no concrete indication that she was in trouble, he had no idea what Steve would do when the alarm on the damn computer did go off for real.

No, strike that, he had a very specific idea about what the idiot would do. And it wasn't like he could tell him not to go. It was _Catherine_.

God, Danny hated this. He hated the faraway look on Steve's face.

_Months._ It could be months of… this. Waiting, hoping, worrying. The laptop on the coffee table thing. Danny didn't want another second of any of it. All he wanted was to see that broad French toast without syrup grin on Steve's face again. He wanted normal, happy. He really just wanted Steve to be happy.

“Huh, so you're planning to misappropriate government funds to stalk your girlfriend half-way around the planet?” Danny said, trying to sound nonchalant. For now, he'd settle for trying to get a small smile out of him. “I like it,” he added (lied) and forced a smile.

Steve just looked at him with a strange expression that Danny couldn't quite place.

“What?” he asked.

Steve continued to stare at him, his gaze was unexpectedly intense, his brow deeply furrowed. Danny tried hard not to squirm under the scrutiny. His heart decided to pick up the pace and his mouth went dry.

Steve suddenly closed his eyes and shook his head jerkily. “Sorry, nothing,” he muttered. The corner of his mouth ticked up before he turned and left the kitchen.

Had that been an attempt at a smile or was his face just twitching?

And what the hell was that all about, anyway?

  


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The kitchen was clean again. Dishes done, dried even, back in the cupboards. The stove nearly sparkled in the sunlight. Danny looked around again but couldn't find anything else to do.

There'd been no _tap, tap, tapping_ in the other room the whole time he'd been in here. Maybe Steve was asleep. He was probably dog tired; he couldn't have gotten anywhere near enough sleep last night. If he'd gotten any at all. He had probably been doing his computer thing ever since he'd sent Danny that text message. Yeah, he had to be tired. See, there was an explanation for that odd reaction from before.

Or maybe a blood vessel in his head had popped. A vital one. Maybe he was actually having an aneurism right now.

Danny shook his head. He was tired, too. He should probably head home.

He grabbed his phone from the counter and remembered that Kono was probably waiting for him to call back. Checking, he found a bunch of new text messages. Two from Kono and one from Amber.

The ones from Kono said _Call me!_ and _Seriously, call me!_

Amber wanted to know if everything was all right, if there was anything he needed and if he was still coming over tonight. She'd cook dinner.

Danny just stared at the message for a minute. It wasn't that he was not looking forward to seeing her. He hadn't seen her in over a week and he kind of missed that beautiful smile of hers. But… he was just not sure if it was a good idea to leave Steve and his laptop alone.

Honestly, he didn't _want_ to leave Steve and his stupid laptop alone. _Honestly_ , honestly, he wanted to make more French toast without syrup for Steve and distract him from his laptop. Which made no sense at all. It was silly. And really, his French toast had nothing on the laptop and any dings and pings that may or may not come out of it.

He texted Amber that he'd be there at seven and bring the wine.

Since there was nothing left to do in the kitchen (aside from calling Kono back, but Danny didn't want another surprise interruption from Steve, so she'd have to wait) Danny walked back into the living room. It was not even two in the afternoon.

He found his partner in the lounge chair. Backrest reclined, feet up, eyes closed.

Huh.

In spite of the fact that Steve probably really needed to sleep, Danny hadn't actually expected him to just take a nap in the middle of the day.

The laptop sat on the coffee table, Naval Intelligence magic still running. Danny resisted the urge to go over there and slam it shut. He didn't want to wake Steve after all. Instead, he just glared at it.

Great, now he was starting to hate an inanimate object. That was just fantastic.

He averted his gaze to Steve. He was breathing evenly enough to be asleep. Still, for whatever reason, Danny got the sneaking suspicion that maybe he was just faking it.

“Steve, buddy, you asleep?” he whispered.

There was no reaction. Danny huffed.

Watching Steve sleep or pretend to sleep was probably going to get really boring really fast (even though, right now, Danny figured he could sit down on the couch and indulge himself for a while. The absence of worried, pained lines on Steve's forehead and around his eyes and mouth was a nice change from the recent status quo). And either way, it was probably Steve's none-too-subtle way to tell him to leave.

Fine, he thought and went to the study to find a post-it note.

_Go back to sleep, you need it. Call me if you—_

Damn the things for being so tiny.

— _need anything. I mean it, anything,_ he scribbled on a second piece of paper and singed it with _Danno._

He stuck both notes onto the middle of the laptop's screen.

Before he left, he made sure that the door to the lanai was locked and the alarm set.

  


**to be continued…**

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mentions of PTSD, discussion of graphic violence, panic attacks.

##  **Someday**

Chapter 3

  


Amber's gluten-free tagliatelle genovese sat like a stone in his stomach.

The two glasses of wine were giving him heartburn.

And there was this ache that started somewhere behind his left eye and went all the way down to his shoulder.

They were on the couch in front of the TV. There was a documentary on, something about… something? It wasn't anything Danny's brain seemed to be able to focus on. He was tired and his eyes kept drifting. He kept staring at his bare feet resting on the coffee table… and Amber's laptop next to them. Folded shut, switched off. Probably unlike a certain other laptop on a certain other coffee table a few miles away.

His phone felt heavy in his jeans pocket. The ringer was set to the highest volume. Just in case _someone_ called, needing anything at all.

Danny rolled his eyes at himself. This wasn't fair to Amber.

He felt like he wasn't even really here.

Amber sat curled up against his side. He had his arm wrapped around her; her head was resting on his shoulder. A hand was gently caressing his side, smoothing again and again over his shirt where the scar from the exploding building/rebar stuck in my gut incident lay underneath. It was comfortable, nice, reassuring in a way.

He should stop thinking about Steve.

He was tired of thinking about Steve.

Tearing his eyes away from the laptop, Danny turned his head to rest his cheek against the top of Amber's head. Everything about her was soft, supple, and warm and his heavy eyes drifted shut of their own accord.

The next thing he knew was that the sound from the TV was gone and Amber was quietly calling his name.

“Sorry, babe,” he murmured, wiping at bleary eyes.

She pulled away a little to look at him, a smile curving her lips. “Let's go to bed,” she suggested, her voice still just a whisper.

“No, no. I'm good,” Danny argued and opened his eyes wide to prove that he was indeed awake.

“You're tired.”

Her hand wrapped around his neck and started to gently massage the too tense muscles there.

“No, I'm —“ he tried but was cut off when she leaned in closed and laid a finger across his lips.

“It's okay,” she said, bumping her nose against his. She trailed her finger from his lips to his chin. “Let's just go to bed and sleep.”

It sounded like a fantastic idea. He hadn't gotten around to take a nap in the afternoon. Between phone calls with Kono and Grace and spending a bizarre amount of time just staring at his phone, wondering if Steve would actually call if something came up, the hours had gone by too quickly.

Danny sighed. “I'm sorry.”

His eyes followed her finger as she let it drop from his chin to his chest. She started drawing small circles on his t-shirt over his sternum.

“This is probably not what you had in mind for tonight,” he observed.

“Going to bed at 9:30?” Amber said, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. “Maybe. To sleep, though? Maybe not.” She laughed, light and beautiful.

Her expression softened then. She still smiled at him, warm and understanding now.

“Come on,” she prompted, pulling further away and holding her hands out to him.

Danny let himself be dragged to his feet and steered toward the bedroom.

  
  


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It was the ringing of his cell that woke Danny. He didn't need to be fully conscious to recognize the sound. It had woken him in the past far too many times.

He cracked open an eye and reached for the nightstand, grabbing blindly for the buzzing phone in the complete darkness. A quick glance at the caller ID made his heart jump, sent his pulse into a frantic flutter. He scrambled out from under the light covers to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes starting to scan the room to find his jeans. He couldn't see shit.

Tapping the screen, he accepted the call.

“Steve? What's up?” he asked. The vague fear curling in his gut gave his tone a sharp edge.

“ _Danny?”_ Steve sounded a little hesitant.

“Steve, what's going on? Are you okay?” Danny forced the words out around the lump that suddenly sat at the back of his throat. “I can be there in fifteen minutes,” he added, calculating the distance and assuming that there wasn't much traffic at this hour.

“ _Danny, relax, okay. I'm fine. There's no need to rush,”_ Steve said, his voice calm and controlled, sounding more worried than anything else. But with his Navy SEAL special-ops _whatever_ training, it did little to reassure Danny.

“Did the computer _ding_? Is— have you— Are there news?”

“ _No,”_ Steve said and heaved an impatient sounding sigh. _“Look, Danny, I told you I'd have to set up the search algorithm at the office. I'm just calling to ask if you could come by and give me a ride to the Palace when you go in.”_

“What?” Danny blurted, perplexed by the request. He frowned into the darkness.

“ _Vision in my left eye is still blurry. I don't think I should drive today.”_

That sounded really reasonable, Danny thought. Why the hell were they talking about it  _now_ ? 

And was that really the reason why Steve was calling? Because he wanted to carpool?

Danny gave up on finding his jeans. His heart gave up on the idea of punching a hole into his chest.

An uneasy feeling remained.

Shaking his head, Danny rubbed a hand over sleep crusted eyes. “That's why you called? Because you want a ride to work? Where, by the way, you shouldn't be going.”

“ _Well, yeah,”_ Steve said very slowly.

“And this,” Danny said, swirling a hand through the air, “this could not possibly have waited until like, I don't know, the sun comes up, or something? This — this is a thing we needed to discuss in the middle of the night?”

“ _Danny, it's almost eight,”_ Steve said.

Something in Danny's gut twisted painfully as he stared into the pitch black darkness of the bedroom. “Babe,” he said carefully, “it's still dark, it's the middle of the night.”

“ _Are you okay, Danny?”_

“Am I — I'm fine.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Danny took a deep breath. He needed to remain calm. “Where are you right now, exactly?”

“ _I'm at home, Danny. Are you sure you're okay? Where are_ you _?”_

“I'm at —“ He cut himself off when he remembered, _really_ remembered, where he was. He turned around and realized for the first time that the other side of the bed was empty. He looked up to where he knew the window was. The tiniest sliver of light peeked into the room from behind the heavy curtains.

Amber had been getting migraines since she'd been shot. Danny had helped her put up those damn curtains himself.

Fuck.

“ _Danny?”_ Steve's voice held and edge of panic now. Danny quickly made his way over to the window and tore the thick flannel to the side. Bright sunlight, muted and softened by the almost closed shutters behind them, spilled inside. It felt like a slap in the face. Danny blinked and rubbed at his eyes again. 

“ _Danny!”_

“I'm fine, calm down,” he muttered.

“ _What the hell is going on?”_ Steve's voice droned loudly in his ear, that familiarly concerned yet demanding tone was oddly comforting.

“I —“ He stopped and sighed, stalling for time. How the hell was he going to explain this glorious moment of disorientation and stupidity? “You woke me. Sorry, I was a little…” he trailed off and shook his head.

“ _Oh,”_ Steve simply said.

Danny pulled aside the other side of the curtain and opened the shutters. Squinting his eyes, he looked around the room and found an alarm clock on Amber's bedside table. It was 7:53 am, apparently. His jeans and t-shirt hung folded over the backrest of the armchair next to the bed. Danny didn't even remember taking them off.

“Look, I can be at your place in an hour, okay?” he offered. He'd need to go home to shower and grab some fresh clothes before going in to work.

“ _Yeah, no — no rush.”_ Steve sounded skeptical. _“You sure you're okay? You can take the day off, if you —“_

“I'm fine,” Danny quickly cut in— because now he was being ridiculous. Steve was the one with the concussion after all. “I'll be there. Make coffee.”

Danny hung up on Steve without waiting for a response.

He grabbed his t-shirt from the armchair and pulled it over his head. Behind him, the door to the bathroom opened and Amber came out, wrapped in a fluffy towel and a cloud of heavy steam.

“You're up,” she said, surprised.

“Yeah. It's —“ He waved a hand at the clock on the nightstand and then shrugged apologetically. “I gotta get to work.”

She smiled, amused, and closed the small distance between them. Running a hand over the side of his head, she vainly attempted to smooth down the hair there. Danny reached up and brushed strands of her wet hair over her shoulder, then smoothed his hand down along the towel to the small of her back. With a small tug, he pulled her in closer.

“Hey,” she said, her fingers curling around his neck. She smelled like coconut and tasted like toothpaste when their lips touched for a brief kiss.

Pulling away a little, Danny smiled back at her. “Hey,” he said.

Amber cocked her head to the side and studied him. Her expression was still amused. “I tried to wake you,” she said quietly, her fingers playing with the hair at his nape.

“The phone woke me.” Danny nodded his head to where he'd tossed his cell onto the unmade bed.

Amber laughed and shook her head at him. “Your brain must be hardwired to that thing because you slept right through my alarm.”

Huh.

She leaned in again for another kiss.

“Do you have time for breakfast?” she whispered close to his lips, her tone teasing.

Danny decided his brain wasn't fully awake yet because he couldn't tell if she was talking about food or something else. He wanted both, his dick twitching with interest at the idea of morning sex, Amber's shower-damp, soft skin on his, no towel, no shirt between them.

But there was no time if he wanted to make it to Steve's on time. Traffic was a bitch at this hour and he couldn't risk being late. The idiot would probably try and drive himself to the Palace, impaired, concussed vision and all.

He kissed her once, twice, soft and apologetic, then slid his hand from her back to her hip, pulling away slightly. “I'm sorry, I can't.”

Amber smiled that understanding smile again. The sight made something inside Danny's chest tighten uncomfortably. He wished she wouldn't have to smile like that so often. He cupped her jaw with a hand and brushed a thumb over her cheek. She leaned in and kissed the apology from his lips.

“It's okay,” she whispered. Soft lips touched the corner of his mouth again. “Go.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Steve eyed him critically when Danny walked into the kitchen. Danny ignored the look (and the laptop sitting on the kitchen island) and focussed on the steaming cup on the counter instead. He grabbed the carton of milk from the fridge and poured some into his coffee. It smelled like heaven and Danny deeply inhaled the nutty aroma before taking a careful sip, afraid to burn his tongue.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. Danny peeked up at him over the rim of his cup.

Steve was leaning against the stove, arms crossed in front of his chest. The rolled-up sleeves of the shirt he was wearing over his tee covered up most of the slowly fading, splotchy looking bruises on his arms. The skin around his left eye and along the jaw was still a bit puffy and purple, but the cut high on his cheek was no longer held together by butterfly strips. It was an improvement, Danny told himself, because the dark smudges under Steve's eyes looked worse than yesterday.

“Are you?” he asked in return.

Steve's frown darkened but he didn't say anything.

“What?” Danny snapped.

“Drink your coffee so we can go.”

Danny scowled and made a point of taking an extra small sip. “So how bad is your eye?” he asked conversationally.

Steve shrugged up a shoulder, irritated. He was obviously itching to get to the office. “It's fine, everything just a little fuzzy around the edges.”

“Hm,” Danny acknowledged. “Maybe you shouldn't spend so much time staring at a computer screen then. Maybe you should —“

“Danny.” Steve stared at him with a warning glint in his hard eyes.

That look had never worked on Danny.

As if realizing just that, Steve averted his gaze and blew out a sharp exhale. His shoulders slumped. “You know I can't just…” He shrugged, jaw working.

“I know,” Danny said softly, setting the mug down on the kitchen island between them. “Just promise me you'll take it easy, okay? Maybe Chin can help.”

Steve considered Danny for a moment, a dark frown creasing his brow. “Yeah, maybe,” he finally agreed warily. Pushing himself off the stove, he clasped the laptop shut and tucked it under his arm.

Danny hastily picked up his mug again and downed half of the still hot coffee in one big gulp. It'd have to do because Steve was already on his way to the front door.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Kono and Chin were all happy smiles and welcoming hugs when Danny and Steve walked into headquarters a little while later. Steve smiled back at them and looked genuinely happy to be reunited with the rest of the team. A familiarity, a kind of normalcy settled over them and Danny breathed a little easier for a minute, allowing himself to enjoy the moment.

Then, of course, Chin asked about Catherine and it was like someone flipped a switch. The room went quiet and Steve's whole body went rigid with tension. Setting his laptop down on the smart table, he told Chin and Kono that he hadn't heard anything from her yet. His voice was flat, almost emotionless. Danny hated the way he sounded.

A minute later, Steve and Chin were talking about algorithms and codes and other things Danny didn't know the first thing about. He rolled his eyes at the two of them and grabbed Kono by the elbow to steer her toward his office.

“You okay?” she asked, brows creased in concern.

Danny really wished people would stop asking him that.

“Yeah,” he answered dismissively, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at the way Steve was hunched over the table and held in a frustrated sigh. This was probably worse on his ribs than the stupid laptop on the coffee table thing. “I'm not the one who got beat up by the freaking Taliban,” he added. And it was right then that the absurdity of it all really hit him. Steve had been captured by the _Taliban_. The fact that he was standing here in the office only a few days later seemed surreal.

The sudden urge to run back over to him and make sure he was actually real and here and alive made Danny's leg twitch. However, the question wether to do it by punching him in the mouth or hugging him until he suffocated stopped him in his tracks.

“He looks okay,” Kono observed next to him.

Danny, startled from his thoughts, turned and raised an eyebrow at her. Was she out of her mind?

“He's hurting,” he pointed out sharply, wondering if she really couldn't see it. The many ways in which Steve was hurting were so, so obvious to Danny.

“That concussed brain of his is just too busy to realize it,” he added darkly.

Kono shrugged. “That's probably a good thing,” she said.

A good thing? There was not a single good thing in all of this. Nothing about this was good.

Danny glared at Kono, making her flinch away a little.

“I'm just saying,” she added defensively.

Danny stabbed a finger in Steve's and Chin's direction. “ _That_ is not a good thing,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low.

“At least it's something he can do from here,” Kono reasoned. “It's something to make him feel not so… helpless.”

Danny looked at her for a minute. Grudgingly, he decided that she maybe had a point. This was better than doing nothing, than just waiting and hoping and praying; better than debilitating, infuriating inaction. Danny knew too well what that felt like.

He took in a deep breath and shook his head. “I hate that she's doing this to him,” he admitted quietly. “I know, it's a kid and the Taliban and how could she _not_ go and help, but —“ he stopped his rambling and looked back over to Steve. “This is killing him.”

“He's not someone who's good at watching from the sidelines,” Kono agreed.

“And that's not even it. That's not —“ Danny cut himself off and dragged Kono inside his office and closed the door behind them to make sure they couldn't be overheard. “He went with her, half way around the world to Afghanistan and then he gets captured by the Taliban. The _Taliban._ And trust me, Kono, he might look okay to you now, but that's not how I found him there, that's not how a freaking SEAL team _carried_ him off the chopper. And Catherine, she knew he got captured, she knew they had him and she just… She just calls, days later, and he tells her he's fine and — that's it? How does she know he won't get on the next plane to come find her? How do I know?”

Kono just stared at him, baffled, overwhelmed maybe, by the outburst. And yes, Danny was well aware that he been a whole lot more understanding of Catherine's actions yesterday. And he still understood. Because Najib was just a kid, a kid like Gracie. And he understood why she was doing this, Danny understood. But, right now, he didn't want to understand. He was so tired of being understanding and rational. Because he was here, and she was thousands of miles away. He was the one who had to look at Steve like this. And he was the one who was stuck in this limbo with him. That laptop, it was like a ticking bomb that Steve was holding in his hands. And the seconds were counting down and down but the timer was missing and the uncertainty of when it would blow up in his face was just… terrifying, because Danny, he just couldn't seem to figure out a way to absorb the blow… and Catherine, she could fix all this by just coming back home. But she wouldn't and it could be _months_ of this. Months.

Danny raked a hand through his hair, tried to inhale a deep, full breath but his squeezing, seizing lungs didn't let him. His eyes found Steve of their own accord. He stared at him, took it all in, the set jaw, the stiff shoulders, the white knuckles curled around the edge of the smart table and Danny felt like he couldn't take another second of it. Not a single second. Not a minute, not a day or a week. Not months.

“First sign that she's in trouble, he'll be back there. And you know what? He's all out of favors with the Navy. No one's gonna swoop in and save his ass next time.”

“Hey,” Kono said softly and Danny could feel her slim hand wrap firmly around his bicep. “Who needs the Navy? He's got us.” She smiled at him softly, but Danny could see that dangerous spark in her eyes. It was terrifying and reassuring at the same time.

But this was nothing like North Korea. This wasn't just one man with a sick vendetta. This was a terrorist organization and hundreds of thousand of miles of ground to cover. This was so much bigger, so far beyond anything any of them could hope to handle. With or without Joe's help.

Still, Danny simply nodded. Because it didn't matter how high the odds were stacked against them. There was no way they wouldn't at least try.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I just wish he had her, too.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Days later, Danny stood in the bullpen and glared at the monitors in front of the smart table. He kind of missed the laptop now. In comparison to all this it had seemed… small, manageable. But the thing had spread like a cancer, infected almost every single hard drive and screen in the office and had mutated into some kind of intelligence monster that greeted him every day he came into work.

He couldn't make heads or tails of the things that ran silently across the screens. But every time he looked at it, it was like a voice whispered _tick tock_ into his ear.

He wanted to take a sledgehammer to the damned thing. Get rid of the problem and blow off some steam in the process. It sounded like a win/win. But he knew Steve would simply rebuild. The computers weren't the problem.

Danny figured that, maybe, he should just buy a plane ticket to Afghanistan and either drag Catherine back here or find the kid himself. Yeah, taking on the Taliban sounded so much more appealing than staying here for another day doing nothing.

The ringing of his cell phone snapped Danny out of his thoughts.

“Williams,” he answered the call without checking the caller ID. He couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the suspended catastrophe in front of him.

“ _Danny,”_ a familiar voice said. _“It's Joe White.”_

Danny resisted the urge to smash his head into the smart table. What the hell now?

“You dial the wrong number, Joe?” he asked wearily.

“ _No, I wanted to talk to you.”_

Danny had been afraid of that. He closed his eyes and rubbed at them, muttering, “I'm guessing it's not because you're still waiting for a 'thank you' for getting me on that plane.”

“ _No,”_ Joe simply said and then fell silent.

The fact that he didn't come straight out with why he was calling made Danny's stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Then what is it,” he prompted and just knew right then that he'd regret asking later.

“ _Can you talk? Are you alone?”_

Danny rolled his eyes. “Will you just spit it out!” he snapped but started walking toward his office anyway.

“ _How's Steve?”_

Danny stopped on the threshold and turned to look over to where Steve sat at his desk. The bruises were all but gone now but that didn't mean he wasn't looking like shit. It was like the computers were slowly sucking the life out of him. “Why don't you call him and ask him?”

“ _I'm asking you,”_ Joe said and Danny could tell he was about done meeting open hostility with perfunctory politeness.

Danny bit his lip and slammed the door shut behind himself. “Well, how do you think he's doing? He's worried sick about Catherine. But you know what? You trained him well, he's being a very brave little sailor; he's putting up a real good front.”

Joe sighed. Danny half expected him to just hang up, but he didn't.  _“She shouldn't be out there alone.”_

“Yeah, no shit.” Danny dropped heavily into his chair. “Look, I don't know what to tell you. You're worried he might go back there? Well, I'm right there with you. But I don't know what to do about it so… sorry.” He paused, sighed. “There might be someone in Pakistan or wherever who could help you but I don't have her number.”

Joe was quiet again and it was unnerving. The guy just didn't do hesitation. He knew what he wanted and usually came straight out with it. Unless McGarrett family secrets were concerned.

“What?” Danny snapped.

“ _I didn't call because of Catherine.”_

Danny picked up the stress ball that sat on his desk and squeezed it until his knuckles turned white and his fingers cramped. If Joe was about to drop some shit about Doris or Wo Fat into their laps, Danny was sure he was gonna shoot someone.

“ _Has Steve — Has he talked to you about what happened when Umar Hassan and his men had him?”_

Danny's heart skipped a beat or two.

No. Steve hadn't said a goddamn word because all he could think about was Catherine. And it wasn't like Danny thought it was a good idea to try and push him to open up about it. If Steve was gonna talk, it would be on his terms, when he was ready. He knew Danny was always there for him.

And aside from that… it wasn't like it was not obvious what had happened. Anyone who had looked at Steve recently could see it. Bruises upon bruises. The bullet to the arm had been friendly fire. None of it had been pretty, but what did anyone expect after over a day in captivity?

But Joe's question, it implied something else had happened, something that worried Joe, and enough so to call and make sure Steve was all right. The thought made Danny want to shut off his phone and throw it out the window, pretend for maybe just a day that Steve wasn't the perpetual number one on the universe's shit list. It just never stopped.

“ _Danny?”_

He huffed, irritated. “Like I said, brave little sailor, tough front and all that. What do you think?”

Danny gritted his teeth and braced himself the best he could for whatever Joe had to say.

“ _The team that rescued Steve secured a video camera at the compound. A friend of mine sent me the footage a couple days ago.”_ Joe paused and Danny wanted to yell at him to just spit it out already. 

“ _They were about to execute him when the team breached the compound.”_

Execute. Kill. Dead. _Steve._

The words skip around in his head as Danny just stared at nothing, hand clenching tightly around the phone.

“How — How close did they get,” he forced out eventually, even though he really didn't want to know. Because Steve was here and he was fine. _Not dead._ Danny looked over to his office just to make sure.

Here, fine, not dead.

“ _Too close.”_

A bullet to the head, a knife to the heart. A snapped neck.

“How? How where they gonna…”

“ _Danny.”_ Joe's voice held a warning. It told him to back off, for his own good. 

“Tell me!”

There were so many ways and Danny's mind was running through all of them. He needed Joe to tell him, he needed to stop seeing Steve die a million different ways.

“Please,” he asked, begged.

Joe was silent for a minute before he spoke again.  _“They were going to decapitate him.”_ His voice was firm and steady, betraying no emotion. It sliced something open deep inside Danny's chest. Ice spread through his veins, freezing and suffocating.

He squeezed his eyes shut but that did nothing to stop his brain from providing him with vivid images of —

Nausea churned in his gut, acidy bile burned at the back of his throat. The breath he dragged into his lungs _hurt._

“He— he knows how to deal with this, right?” Danny asked, his voice shaky and hoarse and he could care less if it made Joe think he was weak or some bullshit. He needed… a little hope.

Joe heaved another sigh.  _“This isn't something you can train or prepare for.”_

Danny didn't want to hear this. He wanted to know that Steve could handle what had happened, that he'd be fine.

Here, fine, not dead.

“ _He knew he was going to die,”_ Joe added, twisting the knife still stuck inside Danny's chest _._ “ _I've never seen him so —“_ He cut himself off, like he couldn't bring himself to say — what?

Scared? Terrified? Defeated? Resigned?

What?

Danny wanted to scream.

“ _He fought, Danny. He fought until he couldn't.”_

The way Joe said it, it sounded like it was supposed to be a reassurance, comforting. He had fought, hadn't given up, hadn't rolled over and —

But all it did was make Danny's lungs seize and he couldn't breathe. Because Steve had reached the point where he _couldn't_. And that alone didn't make any sense at all. Because Steve— He didn't give up. The point when he couldn't fight anymore was something that Danny never thought existed. It was absurd, something he couldn't imagine.

“ _But I'm worried about how he'll react to it once this thing with Lieutenant Rollins blows over and it all sinks in,”_ Joe's voice droned in Danny's ear, muffled by the sound of his own blood rushing in his veins.

Danny choked out a laugh that felt like gravel at the back of his throat. A minute ago, the thing with Catherine had been his biggest concern. And he had already felt out of his depth with that one. And now he had to deal with that on top of — what? Some kind of delayed PTSD reaction to coming too close to being _decapitated, fighting until he couldn't._

It still made no sense.

It was all a little overwhelming, all a little too freaking much for Danny to handle. It felt like he'd been dropped into the middle of the ocean, trying to stay afloat but someone'd just cut off both his arms and chained a two ton anchor to his legs.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Danny asked after a pause, unable but also unwilling to hide the desperate edge, the hysteria in his voice. “I mean, he's — It's not like he —“

“ _Just keep an eye on him,”_ Joe said and he sounded so damn calm it made Danny furious.

“That's it? I don't even know what I'm looking for.”

“ _Danny, you know him better than anyone. You'll know.”_

Danny considered that to be some really fucking unhelpful advice. He'd know? Yeah, sure he'd know. When Steve — what? Snapped and killed someone? Had a panic attack in the middle of a crime scene? Disappeared (again), hurt himself? Started drinking or using drugs, stopped eating or sleeping? What? Danny had no experience with this and Joe just expected him to _know_? He would fucking know when something eventually happened and it'd be too late to do anything about it, and that just… couldn't be the solution to this.

“I want to see the footage,” Danny said as determined as he could manage. He needed to know what he was dealing with, he needed to know what exactly had happened, he just… _needed to_ _know._

“ _No.”_

“No? You can't just drop something like this on me and not —”

“ _I told you what happened,”_ Joe interrupted him sharply _. “Trust me, you don't want to see him like that.”_ He paused briefly. _“Steve wouldn't want you to see him like that,”_ he added, his voice softening.

Danny knew he was right, but still…

“Fine,” he snapped after a beat. “I hate this. For the record, I hate this so much.”

“ _I know,”_ Joe said. _“And I hate talking to you about this behind his back, but I had to tell you.”_

“Yeah, sure,” Danny muttered. Because then, on top of all this godawful shit, there was that. The talking behind Steve's back, the lies, the betrayal. The Joe White special. But hey, this one was pretty low on a scale from one to Shelburne.

One crisis at a time.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“What are you doing?”

Steve looked up from his computer screen and frowned at Danny. “Requisition forms,” he informed him, scrunching up his face in something akin to disgust.

“Do we really need more ammo?” Danny crossed his arms in front of his chest and bumped a shoulder into the door frame to lean against it. He didn't even really know why he was here, why he couldn't just sit at his desk after ending the call with Joe and take a minute to let it all sink in, come to terms with what had happened in Afghanistan. But without conscious thought, he had just gotten up on wobbly legs and walked right over here, the urge to see Steve (here, fine, not dead) had been overwhelmingly strong.

“These are for office supplies,” Steve said, waving a hand at the screen.

“Oh, good. I need a new mouse for the computer.” It was the first thing that came to Danny's mind.

“Again?” Steve raised an eyebrow at him. He looked more confused than annoyed.

“The one I got isn't working. The pointer thing keeps bouncing around the screen like it's a pinball machine. It's giving me a headache and finger cramps.” To illustrate, Danny held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. Thankfully they'd stopped shaking.

Steve glared at him. “The mouse isn't working because it's covered in a layer of sugar and grease, Danny. You gotta stop eating all that crap at your desk.”

“Where the hell else am I supposed to eat?”

“I don't know, in the conference room, maybe. Or outside. It's nice outside.” He unnecessarily gestured to the window.

Danny saw nothing but glaringly bright sunlight and scowled. “It's a hundred and fifty degrees outside. Every single day,” he reminded Steve and then narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you saying you're not getting me a new mouse?”

Steve just huffed irritably. “Was there something else you wanted?”

“Huh?”

“What did you want?”

Right. Just checking in to see if you're having any mental breakdowns over coming too close to getting your head chopped off.

Danny dropped his arms and shoved both hands deep into the pockets of his pants, wondering why it was so perplexingly easy to get drawn into a nonsensical argument like this. Because the normalcy it represented, it was so drastically at odds with the jarring picture of fear and beheadings Joe had just painted for him. It was tempting to just indulge in it, just for a little while. Pretend the phone call, Afghanistan, or any of the other shit had never happened.

“I missed breakfast,” Danny said and shrugged nonchalantly. “I was wondering if you wanted to go grab something to eat.” Maybe some French toast without syrup. “Nothing sticky or greasy, promise.”

Steve gave him a funny look. “Everything okay?”

Danny shrugged off the question. “Aside from the fact that I'm starving…”

Steve's glance over to the computer screens in the main room was a perfunctory and redundant one. He didn't do anything or go anywhere these days without checking them, even though Chin had somehow rigged the whole thing so that he would get an alert on his phone if the intelligence monster picked up anything at all. But Steve had always been a control freak.

Still, it was an unwelcome reminder of what Danny was trying hard to forget right now.

Steve looked back at him and nodded. “I could eat,” he said and then smiled. “Hope you got your wallet.”

Danny rolled his eyes at him.

Steve was making it too easy to ignore the reality. And maybe it was part of the problem. Maybe Danny shouldn't let him, make him confront what had happened to him and work through it instead of letting him shove it all away into some dark, overstuffed box at the back of his mind.

But he was just Danny.

And he had no idea what to do.

  


**to be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 4.22 but before the final scene when the team offers Lou to join Five-0.
> 
> Contains somewhat lengthy discussion of the episode's events, silliness and fluff.

##  **Someday**

Chapter 4

  
  


With his fingers poised over the computer keyboard, Danny glared at his phone that sat on the desk next to it. Muttering a curse at the stupid thing, he grabbed it and shoved it into a drawer of his desk, slamming it shut with a resounding bang. He gave his head a shake, blinked his eyes a few times and then stared at the empty form on the computer screen again.

He wondered how long he'd been sitting here, not-writing the report and thinking about stupid text messages.

The clock on his computer said 7:14 pm, which was fantastic because he had apparently just wasted a little over half an hour.

Great.

Heaving a sigh, Danny tilted his head from side to side, trying to stretch his shoulder muscles. He was achey, tired, and hungry on top of having the worst kind of day. A day that had started with a car chase in a clown car and somehow, bizarrely, ended with Wo Fat kind of saving the day (in his own twisted, self-serving, devious kind of way, naturally, but still).

Kono and Chin had already gone home and Danny couldn't blame them. The only reason why he was still at HQ was Grace. Tomorrow was Friday and he was planning on picking her up after school and start their weekend early. He'd have to get as much work done as possible tonight in order to do that, though. But thanks to a text message induced lack of concentration, he hadn't even made so much as a dent in the digital mountain of forms inside his computer.

Stupid text messages.

Danny rolled his eyes. Though, in hindsight, the text messages explained a lot.

When he had come into the office that morning, he'd found Steve in front of the monitors in the main room, focussed on a case like Danny hadn't seen him since Afghanistan. He'd been going through surveillance footage, looking for a lead on the serial bank robber who had been keeping HPD busy for the last month and a half.

It'd been a nice change of scenery. Watching people rob banks instead of watching lines of gibberish code run across the screens.

And now, looking back, the change made perfect sense. Steve had told Danny later that he had heard from Catherine the night before. _Finally_. Even though she was still out there — headed to the Hindu Kush now, apparently — the _job_ still not done. At least Steve knew now that she was still alive. And Danny could imagine how, after almost two weeks of trying to convince himself that no news was good news, it made it easier for him to focus on _anything_ else.

The thing that didn't make sense though — and probably the reason why Danny's brain was so stuck on the damned text messages — was why Steve hadn't just told him about Catherine's message right that morning. Catherine wasn't just Steve's 'she's not my girlfriend' girlfriend, after all. She was a part of the team, she was Kono's, Chin's and Danny's friend, too. Part of the ohana. And Steve knew they all cared and worried about her.

So why hadn't he felt the need to tell them right away? Why had Steve only told him after Danny had asked — half sarcastically and in a pissed-off mood, thanks to the news of Wo Fat escaping from prison and the lingering traces of adrenaline from his own near death experience that morning.

Danny hadn't realized it then, but it kind of pissed him off now.

What the hell was Steve's problem?

Danny decided to go and find out, right then and there.

He pushed out of his chair and stomped out of his office and across the bullpen over to Steve's.

The sun had already set and it was getting dark; most of HQ had already been shut down for the day. The soft light coming from the smart table area gave the space a false feeling of peacefulness.

Steve was sitting at his desk, hunched over a file. Danny figured it was the forensics report from the house where Grover's daughter had been held by Ian Wright. The only location they knew of where Wo Fat had been after, apparently, managing to get from Colorado to Oahu in record time — at least for a man on the run from every law enforcement agency in the United States.

It wasn't like the report would give them a clue as to where Wo Fat was now or what the hell his cryptic message was supposed to mean. But Steve was still going to read it ten times over, back to front, upside down and sideways, because it was the only non-lead they got.

Danny didn't bother to knock.

“What's up?” Steve asked, looking up at him with a frown.

“We need to talk,” Danny told him but then just stood there for a moment, staring at Steve. That look of exhaustion mixed with determination on his face was getting old really fast. With a huffed out sigh, Danny dropped into one of the armchairs in front of the desk.

Steve leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Why didn't you tell me— _us_ ,” Danny corrected himself. “Why didn't you tell us that you'd heard from Catherine?”

Steve furrowed his brow again. “I did tell you,” he pointed out, his tone suggesting that Danny was maybe confused.

“ _After_ I asked you,” Danny reminded him. “Why didn't you tell me when I came in this morning, or, hell, called me right after she texted you?”

“Her text came in at two in the morning, Danny. You really wanted me to call you in the middle of the night?”

That was so not the point. “Sure, why not?” Danny snapped and gritted his teeth, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. He was trying really hard not to yell.

Steve just gave him that half-eye roll kind of look that was supposed to mean something along the lines of, 'come on, really?'

“Hey, she's my friend, too. I'm worried about her, too, okay.” Danny couldn't help but let the anger and frustration take a hold of the tone of his voice.

Steve looked at him for a long minute, considering Danny's words. Then he cast his gaze down, rubbed a thumb over his brow and heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. He shifted in his seat and then looked back up to Danny. “I'm sorry. It's just —“ He cut himself off with a shrug, his face twisting.

“What?” Danny prompted, his voice softening. “It's just — what?”

Steve exhaled and his entire body sagged in the chair. It was like someone had pulled a plug and he was deflating like a balloon. “It doesn't change anything,” he said after a beat. “She's still over there.”

The 'and I'm not, to help her, protect her' went unspoken, but it was written all over Steve's face.

Danny attempted an encouraging smile. “At least now we know she's all right,” he said. She was alive. That was more than they knew yesterday.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed wryly.

Danny frowned at him, because now he had a feeling that there was more to this. He studied Steve for a moment, took in the set jaw and the pinched expression and all he read was anger. Which, after the day they'd had, was not all that surprising. But still, Danny wasn't sure how it made sense in the context of their conversation.

“Are you mad at her?” he asked.

The set of Steve's jaw tightened even further. His eyes darted aimlessly around the room and his hands clenched to fists. “I don't wanna be… _mad_ at her,” he forced out. Inhaling a deep breath, he ran a hand over his face. “I mean, I know why — I _know_ why she has to do this,” he continued and, like back in the car earlier that day, he sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself. “I understand it, I do, but —“ He stopped abruptly, clamping his mouth shut, swallowing hard.

“Hey, I get it,” Danny said, because Steve didn't look like he wanted to (or even knew how to) finish the thought. But Danny knew what it was like. He _knew_. Not only because he felt the same way as far as Catherine was concerned. But more so because he'd been there before. A couple years ago, when Steve had just disappeared to find Shelburne, with no other explanation than 'I have to do this'.

It had been weeks of worry and fear and imagining worst case scenarios. And it had been weeks of slowly building, irrational anger. Yes, intellectually, he had understood why Steve had needed to find Shelburne, get answers, just a little bit of the truth. But emotionally, the situation had become increasingly harder to deal with. And he had been pissed at Steve. For all kinds of different reasons, some more understandable and reasonable than others.

The important part was, though, that the anger and frustration had melted away the second he had heard Steve's voice over the phone and known that he was coming home, that the worrying was over.

But Catherine's job or mission or whatever it was, it wasn't done yet. Still, for a second, when Steve had seen the sat phone number on the display of his cell at two in the morning, he must have thought she was coming back to him.

“Hearing from her, getting that text… you got your hopes up,” Danny said. He tried to keep his tone conversationally. Steve wasn't big on talking about these kinds of things. The faraway look in his eyes and his working throat were a testament to that.

“It sucks,” Danny added. “And hey, it's okay if it pisses you off.”

Steve's eyes suddenly focussed on Danny, narrowing sharply. “No, it's not. It's not okay. It's _distracting_.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The money, Danny. I should have made sure it was in the truck.”

“We didn't know Novak was gonna play us,” Danny pointed out. There was no reason for Steve to blame himself for what that asshole had done.

“The Governor put me in charge of the transport. It was my responsibility. I should have made sure the money was in the truck.”

“Hey,” Danny said and leaned forward in his chair to slap the desk with his flat palm. He was trying to get Steve's attention; his eyes were aimlessly darting around the room again. “Listen to me. Denning put _Five-0_ on the security detail. That means all of us.” He emphasized his words by swirling a finger around the air in an all-encompassing gesture. “And none of us thought to check the truck, not me, not Chin, not Kono. We all messed up.”

Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest, jaw set. He didn't seem inclined to share the responsibility for this. But Danny knew he was right. Yeah, they had made a stupid mistake. Trusted someone they didn't know. But this was on all of them. Steve didn't get to own this one.

“Like it or not, we, _all of us_ , made a mistake. But it was _one_ mistake. And we got the money back. Samantha is safe, Novak's going to jail.” Danny sighed and shrugged. They had made up for it, fixed it. But that wasn't the part Steve could focus on.

“It shouldn't have happened in the first place,” Steve told him.

This was so frustrating.

“Hey, come on, cut yourself some slack, okay. Today was a little… much.” Which was the understatement of the century.

“That's just it, Danny. If we hadn't lost the money, then —“

“Then, what? We could have just handed it over to that little punk? What difference would that have made?”

“While we were looking for that money, Wo Fat found Ian and Samantha.” Steve paused, his throat rippling as he swallowed. “He could have killed her, too,” he added quietly after a beat.

“He didn't,” Danny reminded him, soft but insistent. Even though he had to admit that Steve had a point, too. The whole thing with Novak and Ian… they'd been playing catch-up the entire time. If Wo Fat hadn't found Samantha and let her go, they'd probably be still — or once again — looking for that ghost money and Ian Wright right now.

“Yeah, we got lucky.” Steve's gaze drifted away and he shook his head. “But it can't happen again. I can't let this thing with Catherine distract me like that again. Especially not with Wo Fat out there.”

“Hey,” Danny said, his voice still quiet, “I know I sound like a broken record here, but we are a team.” He paused, waited for Steve to look at him. “We'll all make sure it doesn't happen again, okay.”

Steve didn't say anything or even nod, but the way he pursed his lips looked somewhat like… resigned acceptance. Danny considered it a start.

“And we'll figure out the other stuff, too,” he added with a shrug and leaned back in his seat. “I mean, we already locked up Wo Fat twice before, right. I promise you, one of the next, I don't know, two or three times, it's gonna stick.”

That made the corners of Steve's mouth twitch. Danny took it as a smile and offered one in return.

He rubbed his palms over his thighs and then stood. “Come on,” he said, clasping his hands together, “let's get out of here, okay. I'll buy you a beer.”

Steve hesitated. His eyes flickered to the report on the desk. Danny wanted to shredder the thing.

“That's still going to be there in the morning,” he told Steve, glaring at the file. “And I promise you, it'll be just as unhelpful.”

With one final, long look at the thing, Steve folded it shut and put it in one of the desk drawers.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


The next day, Danny ended up bringing Grace to the office after picking her up from school. One beer had become four and he hadn't made it back to the office before ten this morning. There was still a bunch of forms to be filled out and the report on the Dunbar arrest had to be written.

At least he had managed to write the one on Samantha's kidnapping yesterday. He'd prioritized that one, wanting to make sure the Governor got his version of the events before he made any decisions about Grover's future.

Grace waved hi to Kono in her office as they walked up to Steve who was at the smart table in the main room.

“What are you doing back here?” Steve asked when he noticed them coming in. He looked over to Grace and the disapproving frown instantly morphed into a fond, loving smile. He gave her a one-armed hug and ran a hand over the top of her head. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi,” she said. Her happy smile for Steve was followed by a dramatic sigh. Danny could tell his daughter was just absolutely _thrilled_ to be here.

He shot her a sideways look.

“I gotta finish some stuff,” he then informed Steve, waving a hand toward his office. He figured Grace could do some homework in the meantime or maybe annoy everyone else around.

Steve's gaze followed his hand and the frown returned. “No,” he decided, looking back to Grace and her pouty face. “I got you covered on the paper work. You guys get out of here and start your weekend.” He smiled and winked at Grace. She beamed back up at him in return.

It had been a while since Danny had seen Steve smile like that, unreserved and honest.

Grace had that effect on him. Which was great, in a warm, Maple syrupy kind of way.

Maybe spending an hour or two with her would get Steve's mind off of the Catherine-app on his phone or checking the APB they got out on Wo Fat every five minutes.

And Grace enjoyed hanging out with Uncle Steve. It was a great plan, Danny decided and resisted the urge to pat himself on the back.

Trying to be subtle about it, he pursed his lips and, with his hands on his hips, frowned at Steve. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, there's no way I'm not going to _personally_ write up a report on that whole fiasco from yesterday morning when you tried to k-i-l-l me with a tiny red car.”

Steve and Grace both rolled their eyes at him.

“I can spell, Danno,” his daughter informed him, her shoulders slumping. She had obviously liked Steve's plan better.

Steve chuckled.

“I know monkey,” Danny assured Grace quickly and stroked a hand over her head. “Promise this won't take long,” he added.

Grace just nodded, understanding and unenthusiastic.

“Hey, I got an idea,” Danny said, forcing some extra cheerfulness into his voice. “Why don't you and Steve go get a shave ice or something. You can tell him all about that…” Yeah, on second thought… he hadn't really thought this through. His mind was completely blank. “That… thing you… told me about in… the car.”

Both Steve and Grace stared at him.

Then they looked at each other. Steve smiled again, awkwardly this time. Grace bit her bottom lip and frowned.

Then she looked back to Danny. “You want me to tell Uncle Steve about the uku outbreak at Charlie's daycare?”

Not really, but it was the first thing that had come to mind.

“Hey,” Danny said, “first of all, you just did.” Way to spoil a perfectly good story. “Second of all, I told you not to talk about people like they're not in the room. It's rude.” He gestured at Steve who just looked back at him like he thought Danny had lost his mind. “And third, we call them lice, not uku. English, okay?”

Grace rolled her eyes at him and still managed to look confused and maybe even a little embarrassed at the same time.

This was going _so_ well.

“I got a better idea,” Steve suddenly said. “No offense to you, of course, _Danno_ ,” he added with an exaggerated placating gesture.

Now it was Danny's turn to roll his eyes, Though, unlike Grace, he was fairly sure he just looked plain annoyed while doing so. “And what's that?” he asked exasperatedly.

“Just a quick trip, promise it won't take too long.”

“A trip? Where to? To do what?” Danny asked, curious.

“It's a secret,” Steve grinned.

Danny narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. “A secret?” he echoed. “Why is it a secret?”

Steve ignored him and looked at Grace. “You wanna come?”

She nodded somewhat excitedly and Steve grinned back at her.

Danny reminded himself that this kind of was exactly what he'd wanted, that his plan seemed to be sort of working. But he just hated secrets.

With a sigh, he decided it was the price he would have to pay for poor preparation. Putting his hands on his hips, he said, “Okay, fine. Put your backpack in my office, Monkey.”

“Thanks, Danno,” she beamed and then gave him a quick hug and headed to his office.

Steve was still grinning happily. Which Danny found oddly endearing.

He frowned at Steve to stop himself from smiling stupidly, too. “What's the secret?” he asked in a low, conspiratorial voice so that Grace couldn't hear him.

Steve snorted. Then he schooled his expression and gave Danny an overly serious look. “It's classified,” he said.

Danny groaned.

Next thing he knew, Steve was already half way to his office to meet Grace there. “You ready to go, Gracie?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” she called and came bounding out of the door, huge grin on her face. Danny thought that she was maybe a little too excited about this mystery trip she didn't know anything about. A little reasonable caution had never hurt anyone.

“Hey,” Danny called after them as they headed for the main doors, “no guns, or explosives, or anything like that, okay.”

There was no reaction from either of them.

“Hey, you listening?” he yelled.

“Do your paper work, _Danno_ ,” Steve told him over his shoulder.

Danny glared at his retreating back. “Hey, if either of you come back with your nose pierced, I'm gonna be very pissed!”

“Bye, Danno,” Grace called.

Then she and Steve disappeared through the glass doors and Danny sighed. “I hate secrets,” he muttered to himself.

Suddenly feeling watched, he looked around the room and found Kono standing at the window to her office, cackling.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


By the time Danny had finished his paper work an hour and a half later, Steve and Grace still hadn't returned from their secret trip. He got restless and bored quickly and thought about calling either of them, but he assumed they were having a good time so he decided not to rush them.

He started playing a game on the computer but the stupid mouse kept acting up so he shut it off again quickly. He decided to try and clean the thing — because it really was a bit sticky — but when he plugged it back in, the thing didn't work at all anymore.

Fantastic.

Looking around the main room and finding it empty, he grabbed the mouse and took it to Steve's office. He traded his with Steve's and then dove under the desk to switch out the bluetooth thingy, too.

Ha!

When he came back up, Kono was standing in the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” he said with an innocent shrug.

“Are you… _stealing_ Steve's mouse?”

Danny huffed and walked over to Kono. He was done here, anyway. “He's refusing to get me a new one, okay,” he said, stopping in front of her because she was blocking the door. “You mind?”

Kono let him through and just stood there watching him take his loot back to his office. “There are like five new ones in the supply closet,” she called after him. “You know that, right?”

Danny stopped and turned to look at her, surprised and maybe a bit confused.

She raised a questioning eyebrow at him and spread her hands wide. “You do know we have a supply closet,” she said, slowly. “Right?”

Danny scowled at her. Of course, he knew. “Excuse me for not keeping a mental inventory.”

Kono just snorted out a laugh and shook her head before she went back to her office.

Danny went back to his. Just as he plugged in the bluetooth thing, he heard Steve's and Grace's voices. He quickly scrambled out from under the table and stuck his head out the door to his office as they walked by.

“You're back,” he stated the obvious.

“Yeah, sorry things took so long,” Steve said with a glance at his watch.

Danny pursed his lips at him. “Exactly what took so long?” he asked.

“It's a secret, Danno,” Grace reminded him and she and Steve shared a conspiratorial smile.

Danny huffed. “It's _still_ a secret?”

“Yes,” both Steve and Grace said in unison and grinned at him smugly.

Danny glared at them. “Fine,” he snapped. “I don't care anyway.”

They both rolled their eyes at him and the way their responses to him were so in-sync almost made Danny smile because he couldn't help but find it endearing. But he hid it by pursing his lips again. “I'm all done here, go grab your backpack and we're out of here,” he told Grace and moved to the side so she could squeeze through the door and inside his office. “Unless you and Uncle Steve here have any more mystery trips to go on.”

“No, we're good,” Steve said.

“Good,” Danny snapped back and followed Grace into the office to get his keys.

Steve was still standing by the door when they came back out.

“I had a really good time, Uncle Steve,” Grace said and gave him a quick hug.

“Me too.” Steve smiled and ran a hand over her head as he hugged her back.

Well, mission accomplished, Danny thought as he watched them. Though he was not too ecstatic about the whole secret thing. Well, okay, if he was being perfectly honest, it was kind of endearing, actually.

Danny frowned, realizing that that word, _endearing_ , had come up a lot in his mind lately.

Huh.

“Danny?” Steve was looking at him expectantly.

“Huh?”

“Are you going or are you just gonna stand there for the rest of the weekend?”

Danny bristled. “No, no, I'm going, I'm out, I'm gone.” He turned to Grace who gave him a funny look. “Come on, let's go.”

He started pushing her towards the doors.

“Bye, Uncle Steve,” she called over her shoulder.

“Yes, bye, Uncle Steve,” Danny added, looking back at him.

Steve just stood there, smiling fondly, watching them leave.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny tried bullying Grace into telling him what the secret trip was about all night, but she refused to even give him a hint. He even tried bribing her with ordering pizza and maybe there was some subtle begging but it got him nowhere.

Grace made him watch 'The Princess Diaries', part one _and_ two and they went to bed far too late.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff :)

##  **Someday**

Chapter 5

  
  


The next morning, Danny wasn't quite sure what it was that woke him. He sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes and smelled… coffee?

Grace didn't know how to work the coffee machine… yet. Or so he thought.

He flipped back the covers, got up and quickly put on a t-shirt before he headed to the living room. There were voices coming from the kitchen, Grace's and another familiar one. But… what hell?

Sticking his head through the kitchen door, Danny found Steve standing at the stove, shoveling what looked and smelled like French toast onto a plate that Grace was holding up for him.

Danny blinked a couple of times, rubbed his eyes again and yup, they were still there. This wasn't some bizarre dream, this was the bizarre reality. “What is this?” he asked.

Grace's head snapped around and she smiled at him brightly. “Danno! You're up.”

“I am,” he said, not quite managing to match her excitement because his brain was still half asleep. He waved a hand at the chaos all over the kitchen, including Steve. “What's going on?”

Steve turned around, spatula in hand and wearing an apron over his polo shirt. He smiled, too. “We're making breakfast,” he stated the obvious, gesturing at the plate in Grace's hands.

“We're making _you_ breakfast,” Grace clarified. “It's a surprise.”

“It is? You are?”

In spite of the confusion, Danny couldn't help but grin at them. They both, _and_ his entire kitchen, looked like they had fought the food and lost.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world that he was here, in Danny's kitchen, on a Saturday morning, cooking breakfast.

Steve told Grace to bring the toast out to the table in the dining room and then put down the spatula, went over to the coffee maker, poured a cup, added milk to it and held it out to Danny. “Coffee?” her offered.

Grace carried the plate by him with a huge grin on her face. The toast looked and smelled _really_ good.

“Thanks,” Danny said, accepting the mug.

At his questioning look, Steve shrugged up a shoulder. “You made me breakfast a couple of weeks ago, so.” He shrugged again.

Huh.

“So, this —“ Danny waved his free hand around the kitchen again, “— this is like… a thank you?”

“Yeah.”

Danny was beginning to think Steve had some kind of cramp in his shoulder the way he kept shrugging it up.

“How uncharacteristically nice of you,” he said and sipped his coffee. It was good coffee. _Really_ good coffee.

“Uncharacteristically nice?” Steve echoed with a frown. “I'm nice.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you're nice, but this is _really nice._ ” It was like his brain couldn't get over how _really nice_ this was.

“You think so?” Steve asked and grinned.

“I mean, it kinda looks in here like you nuked my kitchen but… yeah.”

At the comment, Steve looked around. “It's not that bad.”

“It's not that —“ Danny started to argue, but then Grace stuck her head around the corner of the door.

“Are you coming?” she asked impatiently. “Everything will be cold.”

“Yes, we're coming,” Steve said quickly, apparently grateful for the diversion, and hurriedly took off the apron and walked by Danny. “You coming?” he asked and grinned again. “We got another surprise.”

Raising his eyebrows while sipping his coffee again, Danny turned and followed Steve to the table.

It was all set for three (which he apparently hadn't noticed on his sleep-walk to the kitchen), and aside from the French toast, there was also bacon, eggs and some cut up fruit. In the middle of it all sat a jug of some fancy brand one-hundred percent pure Maple syrup.

“Ta-da!” Grace announced from behind the table. She indicated the syrup. “We bought this for you yesterday.”

So _that_ wasthe secret?

“You did?” Danny said and shook his head, smiling. “That's —“ He didn't quite know what to say. Because he really wanted to say 'sweet' but it seemed like a terrible pun. But it kind of really was sweet. “That's really nice,” he said instead, again.

Grinning, apparently pleased by Danny's somewhat befuddled reaction to all this, Steve and Grace sat down next to each other. Danny took the seat across from them.

“Let's see what all the fuss is about,” Steve said and started loading his plate with toast. He had the good sense to offer some to Grace and Danny before he drowned his plate in syrup and started shoveling the sticky mess into his mouth.

At a more civilized pace and in a more well-behaved manner, Danny and Grace followed suit.

“This is really good,” Steve said after a few bites.

“See, I told you.” Danny poured some syrup over his own toast and wiggled the jug a little. “Key ingredient.”

He put the jug down and started digging into his own food. It tasted really good. _Really_ , really good. He thought that maybe this was even the best fucking French toast he'd ever had.

And this was definitely the most perfect breakfast he'd had in a long time. Grace was practically bouncing on her chair with excitement. She seemed ecstatic that their surprise had worked out so well. And Steve, he looked so… unburdened for once, happy. It was like he could finally relax for a minute and it made something inside Danny's chest tingle funnily that being in his home, being with his daughter was what made him look that way.

And just as Danny realized this, it was like the universe picked up on it, too, because suddenly, Steve's phone started ringing.

Danny groaned at the sound and shot Steve a pleading look. “Please don't answer that,” he begged. Because there was a ninety-eight percent chance that it was the HPD or the Governor himself and having this awesome breakfast broken up by a case was not fair to any of them.

Steve almost-shrugged apologetically. He took a quick sip from his coffee to wash down the toast and then pulled the phone from his pants pocket. He checked the caller ID and froze.

“What?” Danny asked.

Steve gave his head a quick shake, as if to clear it, and then pushed back his chair to stand up. “It's— It's Catherine,” he said, still staring at the phone's display. “I, um, I gotta —“

“Yeah, no, no, sure, go ahead, take it,” Danny all but stuttered, feeling as surprised by the call as Steve looked. “Take it,” he repeated, louder, when Steve just stood there.

He nodded. “I'm just gonna —“ He jerked a thumb at the front door and then tapped the screen to accept the call. “Catherine?” he asked, and then he was across the room and out the door.

It fell shut behind him with a loud bang.

Danny stared after him for a long moment. Then he blew out a deep breath.

“Do you think she's coming home?” Grace asked in a quiet voice from across the table.

Danny looked at her, took in the big, concerned eyes and frowned. Grace knew Catherine had gone to Afghanistan to help some friends of hers find a missing boy. But she didn't know that the Taliban had taken him or how fucked up and dangerous it was for her to go after the kid alone. So Grace shouldn't look this worried.

“I don't know, Monkey,” he said honestly. “She'll come back when she's found the boy, okay. You don't have to worry, she'll be fine.” He forced a reassuring smile.

Grace dropped her gaze down to her plate. “Uncle Steve is really worried about her,” she said.

Danny sighed. Of course Grace had picked up on that. “I know he is,” he told her. “You know how far away Afghanistan is, right?” She nodded. “And you know about the war there.” Another nod. “So, she's far away from home in a place that isn't as safe as it is here. So of course Steve worries about her.”

Grace didn't look the least bit reassured. “I'm worried about her, too,” she said quietly.

Danny reached out and laid his hand over hers on the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Me too,” he said. “But hey, you also remember that Catherine used to be in the Navy, right?” he added.

“Yeah.”

“That means she knows how to take care of herself.” He ducked his head a little to get into her line of sight.

“Steve just worries so much because he cares about her a lot.” He smiled when Grace looked up at him. “It's like when you were at that cheer camp thing. I worried the whole time even though you were perfectly safe — or, you know, as safe as anyone can be being tossed into the air and doing human pyramids.”

“Danno,” Grace whined. “That's not the same.”

He sighed. She was just too smart for her own good. “I know. But you understand what I'm saying, right?”

Grace nodded again.

“Good. Come on, finish your breakfast, okay,” he said, gesturing at all the food that was slowly going cold.

“Okay,” Grace said and picked her fork back up. She started eating again but lacked the enthusiasm from before.

Danny looked over to the window. He could see Steve's sitting in his truck and that he was still on the phone. But he couldn't quite see his face. Still, Catherine actually calling him had to be good news. Maybe she had already found the kid. Maybe she was on her way back home.

Or maybe she was just calling because she needed a favor. Wasn't it too soon for her to be back from the Hindu Kush yet? Maybe she needed help. Maybe she was asking Steve to come back.

Danny sighed again, refusing to dwell on the 'what ifs' any longer. He picked up his own fork and took another bite of toast but when he barely managed to get it past the lump at the back of his throat, he put the fork back down.

He glanced over at Steve's plate. There was a slice of toast left on it, swimming in a sea of glistening, thick and sticky syrup.

The damned toast was mocking him. Again.

Danny wanted to grab the plate and take it to the kitchen and throw it into the sink or maybe right out the window.

But Steve, he'd probably — hopefully — want to finish it and Danny was not gonna make the same mistake twice. So he decided to ignore the stupid toast. He looked at Grace instead, forced himself to smile at her while he kept sipping his coffee and pretended that everything was fine.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


After Grace had finished her food, Danny decided to deal with the stupid toast on Steve's plate by shoveling all the left-over food on top of it.

And if Steve didn't like his bacon and eggs drowned in syrup… well, tough.

Together, Danny and Grace took the empty dishes back to the battle field that was the kitchen.

“Maybe we should start cleaning,” Grace suggested as she looked around.

Danny gave a dismissive wave with his hand. “Nah,” he said and steered her back to the door, “we'll let Uncle Steve take care of this mess.”

That got at least a small giggle out of her.

Back in the living room, Danny looked out the window again. It looked like Steve was no longer on the phone. He seemed to be just sitting there in his truck, staring out the window and at Danny's house.

“Hey, babe,” Danny said to Grace, tearing his eyes away from Steve. “Why don't you watch some TV or something. I'm just gonna head outside and see what Catherine's saying.”

Grace looked out the window at Steve's truck and frowned.

Danny put a hand on her head. “Hey,” he said, making sure she had her attention, “Don't worry, okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”

Grace nodded reluctantly.

Not bothering that he was bare-footed and still just in his boxers and a t-shirt, Danny headed for the door. Outside, he blinked against the bright sunlight and raised up a hand to shield his eyes. He couldn't tell if Steve even saw him or if he was just blankly staring ahead.

Danny quickly made his way over to the truck and opened the passenger side door.

It seemed to snap Steve out of his reverie. His eyes focussed briefly on Danny before he averted his gaze down to the phone in his hands.

Danny climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. He, too, stared at the phone for a moment.

“Bad news?” he asked, quiet and careful.

Steve inhaled a deep breath and slowly let it go. “No,” he said to Danny's surprise, because Steve didn't exactly look like it was good news.

“Cath has found Najib. They're both back at the village, they're safe.”

Danny stared at Steve. That was… _great_ news. Steve should be ecstatic right now. Catherine's job, mission, whatever you wanted to call it, it was over, done, she was coming home. The waiting was over. Danny felt so relieved. But it was hard to reconcile that feeling with the expression on Steve's face.

What the hell was going on?

“She's not coming back,” he said suddenly, as if he'd read Danny's mind.

“What? What— what do you mean, she's not coming back?” Danny sputtered out. It didn't make any sense.

Steve dropped his head back against the headrest and gazed aimlessly out the windshield. “Najib and his family… she wants to make sure they're safe,” he explained and Danny didn't understand. He understood the words but they were not making any sense to him.

“But she— she did,” Danny said. “She got the kid back. He's safe now. Right?”

Steve sighed. “Cath thinks the Taliban might come back to the village. She's just — She's gonna stay there a little while longer, to make sure.”

Jesus Christ. Was this shit never going to end? “How long,” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. “I mean, are we talking, what? Weeks? Months?”

_Months._

Danny knew he couldn't do _months._

This whole thing… it just never ended.

How much longer were they going to have to worry about her? Danny was so fucking tired of worrying about her. More so, he was really fucking tired of watching Steve worry about her, thinking he couldn't focus on the job because his head was thousands of miles away in Afghanistan.

Steve shrugged. “I don't know.” His voice sounded strangely hoarse. He cleared his throat. “She said she's thinking about staying there. But she needs time to make a decision.”

“She's — she —“ Danny closed his mouth because now he didn't even know what to think, let alone what to say. This was so messed up. It was noble and generous and _good_. But it felt so wrong at the same time.

She was thinking about staying there? For good? How could anyone just turn their life upside down like that? She had everything here, for Christ's sake. Family and friends, a job, a home. Steve.

How could she be even thinking of just turning her back on all that? On him?

“She's asked me to pack up her place,” Steve said. “Send her some stuff, put the rest in storage, sublet her place until the lease is up.”

Wow. That sounded pretty fucking final to Danny. He swallowed. “So she's not even coming back to do it herself?” Or to say goodbye?

Steve was still just staring blankly ahead. He looked… resigned.

“She can't take the risk, you know that,” he told Danny.

Danny wanted to yell at him that he felt like he didn't know shit, apparently. He certainly didn't know Catherine. He'd thought he knew her, thought she cared about what she had here. But apparently, she didn't.

But Danny kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to put Steve in that position right now, where he thought he had to defend Catherine or her actions. Because that was what the idiot would do, even though she had just — what? Broken up with him?

If she couldn't come back here and Steve was persona non grata in Afghanistan… it'd make for a really shitty long distance relationship.

Danny exhaled a deep breath. “So that's it?” he asked, unable to keep the disdain from coloring the tone of his voice.

“She hasn't made a final decision yet,” Steve said, frowning.

“She has you packing up her stuff,” Danny reminded him.

“She's staying for now, at least until things in the area have settled down a little. It could take a while.” Steve turned his head to look at him. “This is important to her.”

The way Steve was looking at him, Danny knew he really wanted him to understand. But Danny couldn't, he just _couldn't_ wrap his head around this. “And what about you?” he asked quietly. Danny really had thought that Steve was more important to her than… anything. Shouldn't he be?

Steve's face twisted. He shrugged.

Danny's throat closed and he tried to swallow but he couldn't. This was so fucked up and _sad_. And suddenly he wanted the laptop on the coffee table thing back and the waiting; the time when it was all about saving a kid from the Taliban and _understandable_ noble intentions, simple in a complicated, messed up way. He didn't want _this._ He didn't want to have another person who was supposed to love Steve abandon him.

It was just so awful how this shit kept happening to him.

“I'm really sorry,” Danny forced out. He really meant it, but it felt like a ridiculously insufficient thing to say.

Steve let out a humorless chuckle. “Maybe it's for the best,” he said, staring out the window again.

How was this for the best? Danny just looked at Steve, not sure what to say.

“Look,” Steve said, meeting Danny's gaze. “After leaving the Navy, after Billy's death, she was lost. She needed a purpose, something she could dedicate herself to.” He sighed and looked away. “After the thing with Kono and Adam, I thought making her a part of the team could fill that hole, but —“ He paused, swallowed hard. “I guess it wasn't enough.”

Danny didn't pretend to understand; how Five-0, the good they were doing, could be not enough for anyone. It was a tough job, it could get all consuming, dangerous. They had all put their lives on the line for it. But it was always worth it. How could that not be enough?

“But if staying in Afghanistan and taking care of these people is what— what makes her feel whole again then… I'm not going to stop her.” Steve smiled, fondly but sadly. “I don't think I could if I tried.”

Danny huffed. Because Steve and Catherine, in a way they were — had been _?_ — a perfect match. They were both all about noble sacrifice, both in their own stupid and, apparently, incompatible way. Catherine giving up everything she had here to keep those people safe and Steve letting her go because he thought it was what she needed.

Danny turned his head and stared out of the window, too. “I'll miss her,” he said.

“Yeah, me too.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Danny couldn't stand it.

“I'm hungry,” he said.

Steve chuckled. “Me too.”

“There was plenty left when I got out here.” Danny thought about the mountain of toast and eggs and bacon coagulating in a sea of one hundred percent pure Maple syrup on Steve's plate. “Of course, Grace might have finished that off by now.”

“Right,” Steve laughed.

“Hey, she can eat,” Danny told him.

“Yeah. Like a little girl.”

“She _is_ a little girl.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

  
  


Five minutes later, they were on the couch in the living room, with Grace wedged between them, eating the left-over breakfast and watching cartoons.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	6. Chapter 6

##  **Someday**

Chapter 6

  
  


Danny decided to help clean the kitchen after all. Allowing Grace to stay in front of the TV instead of making her help clean up the mess she'd had a substantial part in creating was probably a bad parenting decision. But what the hell. It wasn't like Rachel and her kitchen staff were setting a better example.

“I don't get it,” Danny muttered as he scrubbed hard at a spot of dried egg on the counter. “It's breakfast for three people. How do you — ugh.” The stupid stain refused to dissolve and he rubbed even harder at it.

“Hey,” Steve said. He closed the dishwasher and wiped his hands on a towel. “Just let it soak for a bit, it'll soften.”

Danny stopped his efforts and shot Steve a look. Irritated, he wrung out the rag over the spot, dripping water on it. “So you don't just know how to _create_ chaos,” Danny grumbled. Then he just stared at the stain and waited. “Perfect.”

“You're exaggerating,” Steve said. He put his hands on his hips and looked around the now (mostly) clean kitchen. “It wasn't that bad.”

Danny opened his mouth to disagree but shut it when Steve heaved a sigh and gave him a strangely serious look. “But speaking of creating chaos.” Leaning back against a counter, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Denning had me come in last night.”

Danny wanted to groan in frustration. Of course Denning had wanted to see him after that spectacular disaster of a case. And technically, they had given the Governor a good reason to be pissed. Five-0 had helped Grover get the money from the rouge Agent Novak. And even though they hadn't handed it over to Ian in the end, the way they had obtained the one hundred million dollars — without a warrant or probable cause — hadn't been exactly legal.

_Of course_ . Denning blowing up in Steve's face about this awful mess was the icing on the cake; exactly what Steve needed.

“Let me guess,” Danny said, “it was not to give us a medal for a job well done. Because if it was, I think I should have been there.”

The corners of Steve's twitched up. Then he shook his head. “He wasn't exactly thrilled about the way we breached the Makuakane Ohana compound. But —“ Steve cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, “I think securing the one hundred million helped him overlook that.”

Oh. …good.

“Hey,” Danny said and hid his relief behind a shrug, “what's the point of immunity and means when you can't violate people's civil rights every now and then, huh.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, unfortunately, Grover did a little more than that.”

“Oh, come on, it's not like he's had a choice,” Danny argued loudly, feeling a surge of anger in his belly. “He only did what he had to do.”

It made no sense to yell at Steve. But this whole thing… it just kept bringing back too vivid memories from a little over two years ago, when his former training officer, Rick Peterson, had kidnapped Grace. The thought alone made Danny's stomach turn. He would have done  _anything_ just to see her again.

“I know,” Steve said in an insistent yet soothing voice. “I even think Denning is on his side on this one. But —“

“But what?”

“He's getting some outside pressure. I don't know if it's coming from the DEA or someone else.” Steve shrugged. “But someone wants to see heads roll for what happened and putting Novak on trial is apparently not gonna cut it.”

Danny cringed at Steve's choice of words.  _Jesus._ It was just an expression, but still. How could Steve just casually throw something like that out there when only a couple of weeks ago he almost had  _his_ head —

“Danny?”

“What?” He blinked.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Danny inhaled sharply, forcing the heinous images from his mind. They'd kept popping up ever since that phone call with Joe. Maybe he should ask Joe again about showing him that video. It couldn't be worse than what his brain came up with.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered and waved a hand at Steve, prompting him to continue.

Steve eyed him suspiciously for a moment. “So anyway,” he said eventually and sighed, “Denning did what he could to cushion the blow. Grover won't have to face any charges. His actions will, however, go on his record and he'll have to retire, effective immediately.”

Danny scowled. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Steve huffed out a breath, frustrated. “He's a good cop. A good man.”

“Good father, too,” Danny added.

Steve's expression softened as he gazed at Danny. “Are you —“ he said, then hesitated, cleared his throat. His eyes flickered to the door to the living room where Grace was still watching TV. “I mean, Samantha's kidnapping, that must have brought back some memories. About Peterson.”

Danny let out a humorless chuckle. He shrugged up a shoulder. “I think about Peterson every time I let her out of my sight,” he admitted. That vague sense of fear was always there, always loomed somewhere at the back of his mind whenever he kissed Grace goodbye. Still, seeing Grover go through it, reliving his worst nightmare had been tough, had made that fear seem more tangible, more real again.

Danny exhaled, the breath came out a little shakily. “But… yeah,” he added and shrugged again.

Steve nodded, understanding. Then he pressed his lips to a thin line and swallowed, throat working. “I'm sorry about yesterday,” he said, grimacing.

Yesterday? Danny frowned. What had happened yesterday?

“What do you mean?” he asked, perplexed.

“The secret,” Steve said, as if it was obvious. “I mean, me disappearing with Grace for almost two hours on the day after Samantha's kidnapping, not telling you where we went —“ He stopped, shook his head and dropped his gaze. “It was stupid, I didn't think.”

“Hey,” Danny said sharply and Steve's eyes snapped back up to meet his. He could't believe he had to spell this out for Steve. “I wasn't worried, okay. I know she's safe with you.”

Steve looked strangely surprised.

Danny sighed. “Look, I know you're worried about Wo Fat coming after you, but that —“

“Shit,” Steve hissed. He threw his head back and glared up at the ceiling, hands clenching to fists. “God, I didn't think,” he muttered, more to himself, like he was only realizing this now. “If he had tried anything…”

“Hey,” Danny snapped and quickly crossed the distance between them. He put a hand on Steve's upper arm and squeezed it tightly. “He didn't,” he stated firmly. “And we're not gonna put our lives on hold because of this insane asshole and his cryptic threats.”

Danny could feel the strong muscle under his fingers twitch.

“Danny,” Steve tried to argue. It came out raspy and hoarse but insistent.

“No,” Danny said, cutting off any further objections. Realizing his hand was close to the gunshot wound from Afghanistan, he loosened his hold, started smoothing his thumb back and forth over the fabric of the polo shirt instead. “All Wo Fat cares about is you,” he said quietly. “He doesn't want to hurt Grace.”

Steve's jaw was working, he was looking anywhere but at Danny.

“I trust you with her.”

Danny reached with the other hand for Steve's tight fist by his thigh, wrapped his fingers firmly over the white knuckles. “I'm more worried about you,” he admitted, looking down at their hands.

When he looked back up a beat later, Steve's pale blue eyes were watching him. The intense look made Danny suddenly feel self-conscious about the way his thumb kept caressing Steve's arm. But he thought he could feel him lean into the touch, even if it was just a tiny little bit.

“I'll be fine,” Steve said in a low voice. Then he shifted his body, unclenched the fist Danny was holding, removed it from his hold, breaking the contact there.

Danny dropped the other hand from his arm. He exhaled. His fingers felt cold without the touch.

He forced a smile. “I know.”

Steve turned slightly where he stood and Danny moved back half a step, realizing how close they were. He shivered, suddenly feeling cold all over and all he wanted to do is wrap both arms around Steve, feel his warmth against his skin and tell him that they would find Wo Fat and that everything would be all right.

But Steve shifted away from him, his movements jerky and abrupt. He checked his watch, tried hard to look anywhere but at Danny again. He looked almost uncomfortable. Danny couldn't tell if it was because of what he'd said or what he'd done. Maybe both, the open display of worry and concern (or whatever else that moment had been, Danny wasn't sure) too much for him to handle.

“I — I gotta go,” Steve said, stepping around Danny, turning his back on him as he headed for the door.

“Where?” Danny asked, hands thrown up in frustration. “Hey!”

Steve stopped. He inhaled a shaky breath. With a hand on the door frame, he turned back to look at Danny. “I gotta go over to Catherine's place, start packing up her stuff.”

What?

“Can't that wait,” Danny asked when his brain caught up. Because he had forgotten all about Catherine for a moment, and the fact that she was not coming back for a while, not ever maybe.

There was just too much going right now. It felt like it was one crisis on top of the next and Danny, he just couldn't seem to keep up anymore. And Steve — Danny didn't want him to leave, not like this. Not when there was Joe's voice in his head all of a sudden, telling him to keep an eye on Steve because of what had happened to him in Afghanistan. Because there was that, too. It was all just _too much_. It was all at once and it seemed like there was always something else and all Danny wanted was to drag Steve back to the couch and have him watch cartoons with him and Grace for the rest of the weekend and be happy and forget.

But Steve simply shook his head, set his jaw. “I want to get it done this weekend.”

The resigned tone in his voice made Danny's gut clench. Was that how he was going to deal with this? Stuff her things into boxes, lock them up somewhere and just try to forget?

No matter how much Steve thought staying in Afghanistan was what she needed, no matter how he rationalized her not coming back, convinced himself and the rest of the world that this was all for the best… it still had to hurt. Losing her in a way, because — what? Steve was just not enough of a reason to come back?

Danny didn't get it, didn't understand Catherine.

He exhaled slowly, tried to let go of the anger that he felt coursing through his blood. It didn't help, it wasn't what Steve needed from him.

“You want some help?” he offered. It came out clipped and gruff, but Danny couldn't help it.

“You got Grace,” Steve reminded him.

“She wouldn't mind.” Danny shrugged up a shoulder. “We can make her carry all the heavy stuff,” he added, aching for some lightness, some normalcy.

Steve huffed, it was almost a laugh. Then he shook his head again. “No, it's all right,” he said. “I gotta do this alone.”

Danny sighed. He understood. There'd be memories there, in her home. Private, intimate. He didn't mean to intrude, he just wanted to help. Stay close.

“But thanks,” Steve said.

Danny nodded curtly. “Sure.” He still didn't want Steve to leave. “But call if you need a hand, all right? I don't want to listen to you whining next week because you threw out your back trying to move the furniture all by yourself.”

Steve smiled, half rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he acquiesced. Then he turned back around and left the kitchen.

Danny followed him, watched as he said goodbye to Grace. She knelt on the couch, reaching over the backrest to hug him. Steve promised her they'd do breakfast again sometime soon, properly, without interruptions. Grace beamed at him and he smiled back, honest and fleetingly happy.

Danny wished he could smile like that all the time.

Steve left and Danny dropped down onto the couch next to Grace. He wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders and she curled into his side.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny dropped Grace off at Rachel's on Sunday night. And even though he was supposed to meet Amber in an a little over an hour, he still stopped at a grocery store on his way back, picked up a six pack of beer and then drove to Steve's house instead.

Maybe he was already finished with clearing out Catherine's house. Danny hadn't heard from him all weekend. No call or text to ask for help moving the heavy stuff.

He was worried. Anyone with half a brain would be, given everything that was going on. But Wo Fat's threat and Joe's voice in his head were not the only reason why Danny needed to check in on Steve. He wasn't happy about how they had left things, wanted to make sure that Steve was okay. As okay as he could be after finding out that Catherine wasn't planning to come back any time soon, anyway.

Danny shook his head. All this shit just kept piling up and… he had no idea where it was leading. All he knew was that no one was unbreakable.

He pulled up in front of the Steve's house. The truck wasn't in the driveway. Danny sat in his car and waited for a few minutes. He considered sending a text or calling, driving over to Catherine's place — or going home and meeting Amber.

Before he could make a decision, though, the blue Silverado appeared in the rearview mirror.

Danny climbed out of the car and grabbed the beer from the passenger seat while Steve parked the truck.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as Danny walked up to him.

“Thought you could use a beer,” he offered, holding up the six-pack.

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, just a little bit. The look felt a little like he was looking for some ulterior motive.

After a moment though, he shrugged and jerked his head toward the house. “Sure,” he said and headed for the house.

Danny followed.

Inside, he watched as Steve switched on the lights and dropped his keys onto the side table next to the couch. Danny closed the front door and set the beer down on the coffee table. He pulled a bottle from the pack. It was still cold and now wet with condensation. He held the beer out to Steve. In the light of the living room, Danny noticed the dark smudges under his eyes, how pale and tired he looked and he wondered if Steve had worked through the night in order to get everything done by today.

Steve wordlessly took the offered bottle and nodded his thanks.

Danny grabbed one for himself. Like Steve, he twisted off the cap and took a long swig. He dropped down onto the couch. Steve just stood there.

“So, how did it go?” Danny asked after a moment to break the silence, ease the weird, restless tension that seemed to roll off of Steve.

Steve just shrugged noncommittally and took another swig from the bottle. He stuffed the empty hand deep into the pocket of his pants.

Frowning, Danny took a moment to study him, to take in the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he held himself oddly stiff, like he was trying not to pace back and forth. He had that faraway look on his face again.

Danny frowned. “Hey, you get everything done?” he tried again.

“Yeah,” Steve said reluctantly and nodded. “Chin helped with the heavy stuff,” he elaborated.

Danny raised his eyebrows at that, surprised.

It must have come off as reproachful, though, because Steve pursed his lips at the expression. “You had Grace,” he reminded Danny. “And Chin offered after I told him about Cath.”

“You told him?” The question just came out. Danny hadn't expected him to just tell the others.

Steve huffed, irritated, and shrugged. “That's what you wanted, right?”

Danny scowled. He remembered what he had said at the office but — this was so _not_ about what he wanted. “All I said was that we care about her, too,” he said. “I'm sure Chin was glad to hear that she and the kid are safe,” he added, his voice softer.

Steve just nodded and took another sip from the bottle. He was still standing. Danny felt weird sitting down and looking up to him. He wanted to do something to put Steve at ease a little. He seemed restless, wired. His thumb kept rubbing at the wet label on the bottle.

“Hey, you okay?” Danny asked. It was maybe a stupid question, for a number of reasons. One being that no one would be anywhere close to okay considering all the shit that was going on in Steve's life right now.

Steve's immediate “I'm fine” was another.

Danny huffed. Right. Definitely a stupid question.

He gestured with his bottle in Steve's general direction. “You seem itchy. If you were headed out for a run or something don't let me stop you.”

Steve looked down at Danny and frowned. “No, I—“ he started, but then stopped. His eyes wandered up, to look out the window above the couch. He sighed. “I got Cath's stuff in the car but…” He paused to shoot a quick glance at his watch, then shook his head. “It's all right, I'm not gonna be able to drop the boxes off today, anyway.”

Steve kept his tone neutral, conversational, but that didn't stop Danny from picking up on his frustration. It seemed like Steve wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it was that easy.

“See, I was wondering about that,” Danny said. He, too, kept his tone light. He wasn't going to confront Steve about his way of dealing with the situation just yet. It was far too soon. Maybe it hadn't really sunken in yet that she wasn't coming back. Maybe Steve was still hoping that she'd change her mind. Maybe she would. “Does UPS deliver to Afghanistan?”

The corner of Steve's mouth twitched up at that. “I got a guy at Hickam who can make sure her stuff gets to Bagram within a week.”

Danny raised his eyebrows, impressed. “You have friends in convenient places,” he commented.

Steve just shrugged. “I'll meet him first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “I'll have to go and talk to Denning afterward so I'll probably be in late.”

Danny just nodded. The idea of Steve talking to Denning and letting him know that the Five-0 task force was now, once again, a four man (and woman) team somehow made Catherine's now permanent absence that much more real. He sighed and looked up at Steve. “You sure you don't want to wait a few days. Maybe she'll reconsider—“

“No,” Steve cut him off, surprising Danny. He stared at Steve as he inhaled a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. “I just spent two days packing up everything she owns,” he said, shaking his head again. “If she does come back, it won't be for at least a while. And her vacation time's been up for over a week. I need to let Denning know.”

Danny simply nodded again, wondering whatever happened to 'she hasn't made a final decision yet.'

“But hey, speaking of Denning,” Steve added off-handedly. Danny sighed at the blatantly obvious diversion but decided to let it slide. He just came here to make sure Steve was okay, not to start a fight.

“What about Denning?” Danny asked warily.

“Well, I've had some time to think and… I wanna ask Denning for approval to have Grover join Five-0.”

Surprised, Danny raised his eyebrows again. He hadn't expected that.

“If you're on board with it, of course,” Steve added at Danny's reaction.

“No, no, of course, makes sense,” Danny quickly assured him and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Like you said, he's a good cop. Sending a guy like that to an early retirement is a waste.”

Relieved, Steve nodded. “Yeah. And I think we could use the help.”

Danny didn't miss the hint of self-deprecation in his voice. He inhaled sharply. “Hey, this isn't still about Novak and the money, is it?” he asked.

Steve frowned. “It's got nothing to do with that.”

Danny shifted on the couch. “Okay. Good,” he said, unconvinced. He knew the thing with Novak still bothered Steve, in spite of Danny's reassurances and efforts to make him at least share the blame.

But, if adding Grover to the team would give Steve some kind of peace of mind (whether he admitted to it or not), Danny was all for it.

Steve was still looking at him, his expression weary and suspicious, like he didn't trust the quick concession, like he expected another argument, another speech on how the disappearing money had not been his fault. And technically, Steve was right. Because the words were right there on Danny's lips… but they'd been over this. It was the one thing, the one issue of the ton of _issues_ they were dealing with that Steve had actually talked to him about, the one thing he'd actually opened up to him about and Danny didn't want to make him regret it by going on and on about it.

“Look,” he said, spreading his hands wide, “I'm just asking because you and Grover, that wasn't exactly love at first sight, okay. And as your partner, I consider it my duty to make sure that you're not making any rash decisions that you — and more importantly _I —_ will regret later. Because I, for one, do not want to have to listen to the two of you arguing during the few, the very _few_ moments of peace and quiet I get to enjoy on this job.”

Somewhere during his rant, the frown on Steve's face had disappeared. The corners of his mouth had even twitched up a little and his shoulders had lost some of their tension.

“Your concern is noted,” he said.

“But also ignored,” Danny snapped testily. Still, he leaned back against the couch, feeling himself relax a little, too.

Steve huffed. “Lou and I are good.”

“Good.” Danny shrugged. “Just making sure.”

Steve took another sip from the bottle and then moved over to the lounge chair, finally sitting down. “I promise you won't regret this, we'll get along great,” Steve told him with a small but somewhat smug grin.

“Psh.” Danny rolled his eyes at him. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

Steve set down his beer on the table. “I'm starving,” he announced. “You want to order a pizza or something?”

Danny blinked. “Sure,” he said and in the same instant, he remembered Amber and their plans for dinner.

He opened his mouth to say something but he didn't know what, didn't know what he wanted. He hadn't seen Amber for days and he couldn't even quite remember the last time they'd spent a night together — at least without Danny being so tired and exhausted that he hadn't just fallen asleep in the middle of their date.

He felt like _owed_ her a real date and he wondered what that said about their relationship, about them and the way he really felt about her.

“Danny?”

“Sorry, what?” He frowned at Steve. Had he said something?

“I said I'm going outside to put Cath's stuff in the garage.” He jerks a thumb at the front door behind him as he stood up. “Why don't you go ahead and order. I know you're picky about pizza.”

Danny glared at him. “Most people on this island don't even know what a pizza is,” he argued. “They think they do but they don't. Flatbread with fruit on top of it doesn't magically become a pizza just because people, misguidedly, decide to call it a pizza.”

Steve just grinned at him. He turned around and crossed the short distance to the door. “I'll have whatever you're having!” he said and then disappeared. And it was right then, in that moment, that Danny realized he wanted to stay here tonight. Eat pizza, _good_ pizza, with Steve, have a few more beers and maybe watch a game of hockey or football or whatever else was on.

He fished his phone out of the pocket of his pants and texted Amber that he couldn't make it tonight. Then he ordered the food.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during episode 5.01.
> 
> Don’t drink hand sanitizer!

##  **Someday**

Chapter 7

  


Danny squeezed the trigger, again and again. The man behind the wheel of the blue Ford jerked as the bullets hit him, center mass. Danny fired two more rounds to make sure he was down — because the asshole just didn't seem to want to die already.

And then, suddenly, everything was eerily quiet again. Except for the sound of blood rushing in his ears and his own heavy, panting breathing.

Shit.

Danny adjusted his grip on the gun, made sure his finger was poised on the trigger. He didn't take his eyes off the target in the car.

The guy lay slumped over to the side, his head resting in strange angle on the passenger seat.

Somewhere in the distance, Danny heard more rapid machine gun fire, followed by a few single shots. Then there was a crash, glass shattering, and then nothing again. Silence.

Danny slid slowly off the hood of the car, gun still leveled on the still body inside the Ford. His legs felt rubbery when his feet hit the ground and for a second he wasn't sure they'd hold him up.

Adrenaline was still coursing in his blood.

Slowly, he moved around the front of the bright blue car, squinting against the sunlight, trying to keep an eye on the man inside. When he reached the passenger side door, he jerked it open. The man was still not moving. Carefully, he reached down and pressed two fingers to the guy's neck, where the carotid artery would be.

Nothing.

He flinched, startled, when another single shot suddenly rang out somewhere in the distance.

He ducked back out of the car and looked around.

Everything was quiet again.

“ _Danny? Steve?”_ a tinny, small voice asked from somewhere close by, yet far away.

Danny realized it was coming from the com link. The thing must have fallen out of his ear somewhere between getting shot at with an automatic weapon and almost getting crushed between two cars.

He grabbed it where it dangled by his chest and fumbled it back into place.

“ _McGarrett? Williams?”_

It was Lou, sounding out of breath and worried.

“I'm here, I'm good,” Danny told him. “All clear on my end,” he added with another glance at the dead guy in the Ford. “Steve, you good?”

The silence that met his question was deafening. And Danny suddenly remembered that the idiot had gone after Turner with a bullet still stuck in his leg.

Stupid, _stupid_ idiot.

Danny turned, glanced around, but all he could see were empty streets and buildings. Nothing was moving anywhere. They had all run off into different directions.

“Steve, do you read me?” Danny asked again, not bothering if it came out high pitched and a little frantic. “Steve!”

“ _I'm good,”_ Steve's voice suddenly said inside his ear. It was followed by a couple of heavy breaths and then it was there again. _“I'm good.”_

Danny glanced heavenward for just a second, thanking whoever. “Sure you are,” he muttered.

“ _Where are you?”_ Grover asked from wherever he was.

“ _I got Turner,”_ Steve said, ignoring the question. _“I'll get him t— Shit!”_ It was followed by a sharp intake of breath and badly suppressed pained grunt.

“Steve?” Danny called unnecessarily loudly into the com link. “Steve, you all right?”

He could hear him suck in a couple of harsh breaths. _“Good… I'm good.”_

Danny wanted to tell him that just because he kept repeating the same bullshit over and over again it didn't become any less of a lie. But he wasn't sure Steve had time for it right now. He might be too busy bleeding to death from that bullet in his thigh.

“ _Steve, where are you?”_ Grover asked again and Danny could hear the distinct note of worry in his voice.

“ _I… I'm not sure,”_ he said, sending a new surge of worry through Danny. Steve _knew_ this goddamn island like the back of his hand, so increasing blood loss was the only explanation Danny's brain seemed to be able to provide for his confusion.

“Steve, wha—“

“ _Surfboard rental,”_ he suddenly said. _“Gotta be Kahanu's. We're in the back alley.”_

Danny looked around again, identified his own location in relation to the store — which, to his own surprise, he actually knew — and then started running into Steve's direction. “Stay where you are, we're coming to you,” he told him.

“ _I'll notify HPD, get them to send out a bus,”_ Grover said and Danny was really glad to have him on the team.

A couple minutes later, Danny pushed his way through a metal gate and slowed down. He figured he was in the right place, at least if Steve was actually where he thought he was. The narrow alley behind the row of buildings was practically lined with surfboards, it took a turn a few yards ahead.

Checking his gun, keeping it leveled to the ground, Danny moved forward. It wasn't likely that Turner was still a threat, not after Steve was done with him, but Danny was rather safe than sorry. He inched close to the corner and peeked around it carefully.

The alleyway behind it was empty. Nothing but more colorful surfboards. With a sigh, Danny jogged along the narrow passage up to the next turn. When he slowed down again, he heard the scrape of something on the gravely ground and ragged breathing.

“Steve?” he called, gun at the ready again.

“Over here,” Steve called back. Danny didn't miss the strain in his voice. “All clear.”

Danny relaxed a fraction, but still rounded the corner carefully.

His eyes found Steve first. He was sitting on the ground, hurt leg awkwardly bent in front of him. His left hand was pressing down on the bullet hole in his thigh, the right was aiming his gun at Turner — who was lying face down on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back.

Danny released a small sigh of relief and then hurried over to his partner. “Hey, you all right?” he asked, knowing it was a redundant question.

Steve blinked up at him, his face dotted with perspiration, his skin pale. “Took you long enough,” he said breathily and lowered his gun into his lap.

Danny crouched down next to Steve. He glanced over at Turner, took in the grimace of pain on his face, the blood on his leg and determined he wasn't a threat. Then he looked back at Steve, down to his leg and, from this angle, Danny could see that the side was dark red with blood. A lot of blood. A lot more than he remembered. And there was a small puddle starting to form under his thigh.

“Shit,” he muttered, hands reaching out to do something but he didn't know what.

“Lou, we need that ambulance _now_ ,” he said into the com link and settled one hand on top of Steve's left one. He had good pressure on the wound but Danny could feel the muscles in his arm trembling with the effort. “I got you,” he promised and pressed his hand down on top of Steve's, increasing the pressure on the wound.

Steve inhaled sharply.

Danny moved closer to him, shifted his weight in order to be able to put his body into the firm hold he had on Steve's hand. He could feel Steve's breath against his cheek, noticed the way it came in short, soft huffs.

“Bullet must've moved when I ran,” Steve gritted out. “Probably tore a blood vessel.”

More like opened an artery, Danny thought. He could see the blood seeping through their fingers, could feel its wet warmth on his skin. The belt still tied high around the thigh didn't seem to do shit.

Danny looked up at Steve's face. His free hand didn't check back with his brain when it reached up and brushed gentle fingers across Steve's forehead. The skin felt cold under his touch.

Steve's eyes shifted to look at Danny. Danny stared back. “You're an idiot,” he said quietly, trailing his fingers into the hair above Steve's ear.

Despite the pain, Steve smiled lazily. His eyelids dropped to half-mast.

It freaked Danny right out.

“Hey, hey,” he called, soft but insistent. “Stay with me, okay.” His hand moved down to cup Steve's jaw, tilting his head up a little.

“I am,” Steve said. “Don't worry.” His voice sounded surprisingly alert and steady.

Danny huffed. “Well, then stop making moony-eyes at me.”

Steve smiled again. “You started with the flirting,” he accused with what Danny figured was mock seriousness (because, _what?_ ). Then, as if he wanted to prove his point, Steve ever so slightly shifted his head, nuzzling his jaw against Danny's palm and Danny didn't know what to think anymore. His mind, for some reason, was completely blank.

Next thing he knew, his hand had dropped from Steve's face to the vest and a nearly hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. “If you call that flirting then it's no wonder that Catherine decided to stay in Afghanistan.“

His mouth's ability to run on its own was a blessing and a curse sometimes.

“Shit,” Danny muttered, dropping his gaze to the bloodied leg as Steve's face went impassive and his eyes lost their focus. “I didn't mean to—“

“It's okay.” Steve inhaled and let the breath out with a chuckle. “You're probably right.”

Danny looked back up, opened his mouth to object to Steve blaming himself for Catherine's choice, even if he was probably, hopefully only joking.

“But,” Steve started to say before Danny could get a word out, “there are a lot of things I couldn't give her that she deserved.”

The admission came so far out of the left field, Danny almost let go of Steve's hand on the bullet hole. After weeks of not speaking a single word about Catherine, essentially pretending she never existed, he chose this precise moment to say— whatever it was he was trying to say. Danny wasn't sure what he meant — _couldn't give_ _her what she deserved_. It could mean a million different things. It could be the blood loss making him say stupid things that didn't mean anything at all.

“ _EMS are here,”_ Grover's voice suddenly droned inside Danny's ear, startling him.

He swallowed and just nodded, staring at Steve who set his jaw and looked away.

Danny felt like he should say something. But what was there to say in the thirty seconds until the paramedics probably got there, in between active com links and Turner still lying on the ground next to them?

So he didn't say anything at all, just moved his hand from where it still rested on Steve's vest to his arm, started smoothing his thumb over that spot close to the faded wound from Afghanistan again until he was pushed out of the way by the paramedics.

  


» » » » »

  


Danny rode to the hospital in an ambulance with Turner. It was decidedly not the ambulance he wanted to be in. But someone had to go with him. It was protocol. Even though the guy was about as harmless as a puppy. And whiny. He was really fucking whiny. The bullet he'd taken to the calf had gone straight through, the wound hadn't even been bleeding that much before the paramedics had patched him up at the scene. But Turner was acting like he'd lost the whole damned leg.

Grover was still at the scene, trying to help HPD and the fire department deal with the plane crashed in the middle of the street. And with Kono and Chin off booking the drone operator, Danny was left babysitting Turner.

At least Duke kept his promise and there were two HPD officers waiting for him when they arrived at the hospital to take the guy off his hands.

The ER was a flurry of activity and Danny couldn't see Steve anywhere so he stopped the first staff member within reach by grabbing the man's elbow.

“Hey, sorry, I'm loo—“

“Hey!” The young doctor jerked out of his grip as soon as he noticed Danny's bloodied hand on the sleeve of his pristine white coat. “Watch it!” He raised up both hands as if he was trying to ward off a wild animal and took half a step back.

“Sir,” a female voice asked next to him. “Sir, are you hurt?”

“What?” Danny turned and came face to face with a short local woman in scrubs.

“Are you bleeding, sir?” she asked slowly and with a pointed look at Danny's blood smeared hands.

“Uh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “No, it's not my blood.” It was Steve's. And he'd really like to see Steve right now.

The nurse frowned suspiciously.

“I'm Detective Danny Williams.” He pointed at the badge on his hip. “I'm looking for my partner, Steve McGarrett. He was just brought in.”

“GSW to the thigh?” she asked and Danny nodded. “He's being treated right now. You can wa—”

“Where? Can I see him?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Why not?”

The nurse crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Because he's being treated for a gunshot wound,” she said slowly and fixed him with a stern look. “It's not a group activity.”

“That's— that's funny,” Danny muttered and started looking around the busy ER again. He didn't need this woman to find Steve.

“Hey!” the nurse called after him as he walked away to go looking for his partner in the beds behind the drawn curtains. “You can't just wander around the ER. There are other patients here.” She quickly caught up with him, grabbed him by the arm and, using what little body weight she had very effectively, steered him off to the side.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” she demanded, pulling herself up to her full five-foot-nothing height right in front of him.

Danny instinctively backed away a little, her words echoing in his head — because how often had he asked his idiot partner the same damned question? The fact that it was now directed at him made him either want to break out in a fit of hysterical laughter or smash his head against the wall. Because, apparently, he was turning into Steve now. Unreasonable, bone-headed, allergic to common sense Steve fucking McGarrett.

This was just fantastic.

“Take a breath,” the nurse ordered. “Your partner is going to be fine. His vitals were stable when he came in.”

Danny exhaled slowly. “I'm sorry,” he muttered and ran the cleaner one of his hands through his hair. “I'm just—“

“Worried,” the nurse supplied, her expression softening just a fraction.

“—coming down from an adrenaline rush.”

She pursed her lips at him.

“I watched a plane crash in the middle of a street today,” he explained matter of factly.

She just stared, quirking up an eyebrow.

Danny sighed. “Okay, maybe I'm a little worried,” he conceded.

“Hmhm.” She half-rolled her eyes at him and started tugging at his elbow. “Come on.”

He put up no resistance as she walked him toward the waiting area. “Bathrooms are right through there,” she said, pointing a finger at a set of double doors. “Go get cleaned up, then take a seat and I'll come find you as soon as you can see your partner.”

“But—“ Danny started to object. He didn't even know why.

“Go!” the nurse insisted.

Danny nodded. He didn't mean to be difficult, it was just that— he really was a little worried.

“Move!”

“All right, all right.” He held up both hands in a placating gesture.

She just stood there, arms crossed in front of her chest again, waiting.

“Thank you, nurse—“

“Alani,” she provided, tapping a finger against her name tag. Then she pointed it at the doors again. “Go!”

  


» » » » »

  


Danny stared at the blood crusted under his finger nails and scowled.

He'd been sitting here for over an hour now, between sick and bleeding people who were apparently not sick or bleeding enough for immediate treatment. Like the heavyset man next to him, who happily spread his probably fatal disease all over the waiting area with his violent sneezing and bone-rattling coughing. The guy should be in quarantine and not sitting in a waiting room full of people. Danny was gonna _drink_ a bottle of hand sanitizer the second he got the chance.

His phone dinged.

The old lady across from him cleared her throat loudly and gave him a glare.

Danny faked a smile at her. “Official police business,” he said, pointing at his phone. They'd been over this. Like a thousand times.

It was a text message from Kono. _Still waiting for prisoner transport. Any news?_

Danny sighed. Alani hadn't been back yet so no. He texted her back and his phone gave him the 'low battery' warning. It was no surprise considering the number of phone calls he'd made during the past hour.

Maybe the old lady had a point.

But at least he knew that Grace was safe. Max was collecting the bodies while Grover was losing his mind at the scene. Jerry was on his way to the hospital. Chin and Kono would be there, too, as soon as HPD could spare a couple guys to take in the drone operator.

Danny figured he may have overstated the severity of Steve's injury when he'd spoken to them on the phone (Chin had sounded uncharacteristically worried) but all this mind-numbing waiting did nothing to ease his worry. And now there were no more phone calls he could distract himself with.

He'd even called Kamekona.

At least there would be shrimp. It might take the big guy another hour or three to actually get here, but eventually, there would be shrimp.

Steve would love it because it'd be a free meal. Though, honestly, Danny wouldn't quite put it past Kamekona and his keen entrepreneurial acumen to send them a bill for the food he'd decided to bring.

“Detective Williams?”

Danny's head snapped up. Alani's grumpy face was the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day.

“Come on, you can see him now.” She gestured for him to follow her and Danny didn't really care that she gave him a somewhat hostile glare which he didn't feel like he deserved. He was in such a hurry to follow her, he almost tripped over his own two feet.

Alani shot him a skeptical look from over her shoulder. Danny ignored her.

“How's he doing?” he asked as he dutifully trotted after her through the ER.

“He thinks he's fine.” The tone of her voice was a familiar mix of frustration, annoyance and exhaustion. What had Steve done to this poor woman?

Danny rolled his eyes. “That's why I'm asking you.”

She shrugged. “His pressure is good, he didn't lose too much blood. The injury itself is pretty straightforward. The bullet didn't hit the bone and there's no major vascular damage.”

They reached a door labeled 'Trauma 2' and Alani pushed it open. “So while he _isn't_ fine right now,” she continued loudly. It was clearly directed at Steve. “He will be soon, provided he gets enough rests and maybe reconsiders staying here overnight.”

Danny peeked around the door and found Steve sitting on a bed. He was wearing a hospital gown and looked appropriately miserable for it. The thing was barely long enough to reach his knees and it was tucked up on the left side to reveal the thick bandage wrapped around his propped-up thigh.

Despite the sullen expression on his face, he looked surprisingly… alive. Danny had expected so much worse. He even had some good, healthy color in his cheeks.

Steve was picking at the IV in his hand. Alani quickly walked over and slapped his hand away. Then she pointed a finger at him sharply. “Don't touch that.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered with a scowl.

Alani huffed and turned back to Danny. “He doesn't leave or move at all until that is done,” she told him, pointing her finger at the IV bag above the bed. “It'll take another half hour or so, I'll be back in time. You can stay with him if you want.”

“Wait, you're letting him go?” Danny gaped at Alani, wondering if she was aware that it had been Steve's blood all over his hands when they'd met just over an hour ago.

Alani gave a somewhat resigned shrug. “The doctor agreed to it,” she said with another sharp look in Steve's direction. Her tone made it clear that she thought both Steve and the doctor were idiots.

From the bed, Steve shot Danny a look that said something along the lines of 'don't mess this up'. Danny rolled his eyes at him.

“Gentlemen,” Alani snapped and then pushed past Danny and disappeared through the door.

Danny pulled up a roller stool to the bed and sat down. “So,” he said, waving a hand at Steve's leg, “how are you doing?”

“My leg is numb.” As if to prove his point, Steve poked it a couple of times just above the bandage.

“That's probably a good thing,” Danny commented.

“Where are your clothes,” he then asked.

Steve frowned and pointed a finger at the door. “She cut them off.”

Danny chuckled. “I think it was nothing personal.”

Steve disagreed with another scowl. Then he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Is everyone else okay? Did you call Grace?”

Danny couldn't help the fond smile tugging at his lips. “She's fine,” he said with a shrug, because, of course she was fine. She wasn't the one who had tried to play catch with an armed drone. “And so is everyone else.”

“Good.”

“They'll probably get here soon,” Danny added, casually.

Steve frowned again. “Who?”

Oh, boy. “Well, Jerry's already on his way, I think. And, you know, Grover's handling the scene but when he's done… He'll probably bring Max along, too. Kono and Chin are booking the drone operator, but they'll probably… they'll definitely swing by after. Kamekona said he'd bring garlic shrimp, so…”

Steve just stared at him. Then he gestured at the IV bag dangling above the bed. “I'll be out of here in half an hour.”

“No, I know.” Danny held up a placating hand. “But— you got shot. They… worry.”

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “It's my leg.” He unnecessarily pointed at the bandage.

Danny rolled his eyes. “People have died from getting shot in the leg.”

“I'm not dying.”

“I know that _now_ , too.”

Steve's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. “You thought I was gonna die?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, yes.” Danny blew out a breath through his nose. “All that stupid running around, that bullet could have easily shredded an artery or something. And besides, you were saying some pretty dopey things back there so, naturally, I thought there had to be some significant, massive bloodl—“

Steve turned his head away with an abrupt, jerky movement. His shoulders tensed and he set his jaw.

Danny clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. That hadn't come out right. Maybe, it shouldn't have come out at all. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—“ Danny stopped and exhaled sharply.

What the hell was he doing? This wasn't him. Danny wasn't that guy. He was the guy who always spoke his mind, said what needed to be said whether people wanted to hear it or not. And he was getting tired of walking on eggshells around the Steve. Yes, he _wanted_ to give Steve space, wanted to give him the opportunity to work through this de facto breakup on his own time. But that wasn't what Steve was doing. He was doing exactly what Danny had been afraid of. He was acting like she'd never even existed, like she hadn't been a part of the team, a part of their lives, and expected everyone to go along with it. It was a shitty way of not-dealing with the situation and in hindsight, Danny wished he had said something at their session with the shrink. When Steve had talked about the team, he hadn't even mentioned Catherine.

“ _We're more than a task force. We're ohana,”_ Steve had said.

But that, apparently, didn't include Catherine. The woman Steve had known longer than any of them, aside from Chin. The woman Steve had brought to the task force, into their family — who everyone had welcomed with arms wide open.

Who was now supposed to be forgotten somewhere half way around the world in Afghanistan.

If Danny had learned anything in the years spent on this island, it was that that just wasn't the way an ohana worked.

He stared at Steve's profile. “What did you mean?” he asked, his voice quiet and soft. “When you said there were things you couldn't give to her, what did you mean?”

“Danny—“

“Look, you can tell me to shut up. If you don't want to talk about her, just tell me to shut up and I will. But you can't just act like she doesn't exist.”

He paused, waited to give Steve a chance to say something. But he didn't. He didn't say anything, didn't even tell Danny to shut up. He just stared ahead, blankly, fingers digging into the plastic covered mattress at his sides. And Danny thought that maybe Steve _did_ want to talk about her… about everything, but he just didn't quite know how or what to say.

Danny sighed, wishing he could somehow do it for him. The problem was just that he didn't know what to say, either. Because he didn't know what was really going on between Steve and Catherine and why they just couldn't be together and happy and why Steve couldn't be _enough_ for her.

Maybe Steve didn't know, either.

But someone had to say _something_.

“I know—” Danny started, “I know you said that you think she decided to stay in Afghanistan because she's looking for some kind of bigger purpose in life or something, but— If there's something else, if something happened between the two of you then— then you can still tell me to shut up. Or you could talk to me about it.” He shrugged up one shoulder, didn't know what else to say.

So Danny just watched Steve, waited again. Steve sat there, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, his jaw working, hands fidgeting. Danny wanted to reach out and put a hand on his arm or his shoulder or the back of his neck but he didn't. He just waited, gave Steve space, time. He wanted to give him so much more, he just didn't know what he needed.

“I—“ Steve said suddenly, but immediately stopped himself and swallowed again. Then he exhaled a breath and it came out with half a chuckle. “The night we came back from Afghanistan, when she called… I told her I love her.”

Something tightened inside Danny's chest. He was almost sure it was due to the clearly audible note self-deprecation in Steve's voice.

“It was the first time I told her that,” Steve continued. “And I do,” he added, frowned and then nodded, as if he was confirming the truth of the statement to himself. “I do,” he repeated. Then his head stilled, his eyes lost their focus and his shoulders sagged just a little bit. “But maybe not enough or… I don't know.” He shook his head. “I probably should have said it sooner.”

Danny sighed. He had a pretty good idea what Steve was thinking. His and Catherine's relationship had always been some kind of a conundrum to Danny. They obviously cared about each other deeply but seemed to want to keep things somewhat casual nonetheless. Danny didn't think either of them had been seeing other people, but Steve steadfastly refused to refer to Catherine as his girlfriend. Danny had always figured that he was afraid to make any kind of commitment to her, maybe out of fear of how much more it would hurt if he lost her. But now that he'd had to realize that losing her hurt either way, he was probably wondering if she would have come back to him if they had been more committed to each other, if he had given her more of a reason to come back.

But given everything Steve had told Danny about why Catherine was staying in Afghanistan, it may not even have made a difference… Maybe it would have only made things worse for them both.

“You wanna know what I think?” Danny asked.

Steve just looked at him warily. Danny took it as a yes. “I think that, yes, maybe you're right. Maybe, if you had told her sooner how you feel about her then she would have come back for you. But that's the problem. She would have come back for _you_. Not for herself. And from what you've told me about why you think she's staying over there… I don't know, but it sounded a lot like she needs to do this for herself.”

Danny paused, not sure if he was getting his point across. And he didn't know how to phrase what he wanted to say next, afraid Steve might misunderstand what he was trying to say. “I— I don't think she would have been happy here. And it's not about you or—“

“I get it,” Steve suddenly said, cutting Danny off. He shook his head and, with a rueful smile, sagged back into the raised head of the bed, sinking into the small pile of stiff cushions. “You're right. She wasn't happy. She never said anything but… I could tell. Billy's death hit her really hard. I think she blamed herself for what happened. Maybe she isn't looking for a purpose in life… maybe she's staying in Afghanistan to seek absolution.”

“Whatever it is, do you think she's found what she was looking for?”

Steve's throat rippled as he swallowed. “I hope so. She sounded different on the phone. More like… herself.”

He stared blankly at some point on the wall across from him. Danny thought that maybe he could see tears swimming in his eyes. He didn't hesitate this time. Wordlessly, he reached out and put his hand on Steve's arm. He could feel the muscles twitch under his fingers.

After a moment, a small smile started tugging at the corners of Steve's lips. “Do you remember Freddy?” he asked, his suddenly raw voice just above a whisper.

Danny nodded. “Your SEAL buddy, of course.”

He knew 'buddy' was an understatement. Steve never talked much about Freddy. He had only told Danny a few things about him before and after he'd gone to North Korea to bring his body home. But Danny could tell they had been much more to each other than just friends.

“He got married right before the op in North Korea, told me on the plane to the drop location.” A real smile spread across Steve's face at the memory. “I never thought he'd get married,” he said with a laugh and shook his head. “Freddy and Kelly, they were— One moment they were fighting, hating each other's guts and the next they were crazy in love, inseparable.”

Danny smiled at that, too. The way Steve described them, Freddy and Kelly reminded him a lot of himself and Rachel.

“He said I was gonna be next, that the thing between Cath and me was the _real deal_.” Steve let out a small, sarcastic snort. “Told me not to mess it up.” He paused and the smile disappeared. “That was one of the last things he said to me.”

Danny just nodded, gave Steve's arm a gentle squeeze. Freddy had died during that op, days after getting married.

Steve sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “I don't know why he said that. He had only met her twice. Talked to her for five minutes, maybe. He even kept calling her Lieutenant Rollins.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Back then, Cath and I— we were just… It wasn't anything serious.”

Danny smiled. “Hey,” he said, “the guy had just gotten married. Of course he'd seen the world through rose-tinted glasses, of course he'd seen love and romance and 'til death do as part everywhere he looked.”

Been there, done that, Danny thought to himself.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “But I guess what Freddy said about not messing things up with Cath… It kind of stuck with me. I really wanted us to work.” He shrugged. “But maybe it was never meant to be.”

Danny dropped his gaze to where his fingers were still curled around Steve's arm, not sure what to say to that.

“Even before she left the Navy, before Billy died… it was like we could never quite figure out a way to really be together, to share a life, even when she wasn't deployed.” He sighed. “We just never really managed that transition from what we had to what we both wanted. Maybe it was because of work or something else. Maybe it was me, I don't know. But I think that… Even if Billy hadn't died, if Afghanistan had never happened, I don't think we would have made it.”

Steve exhaled slowly. “I just wish I had realized that sooner. I wasted four years of her life.”

“Hey,” Danny called softly, looking up at Steve again. All he could see in his eyes was regret and loss and guilt. Danny wanted to make it all go away. “I'm sure she doesn't see it that way.”

Steve didn't look convinced, so Danny decided to switch gears. He cleared his throat and gave Steve's arm one last squeeze before he forced himself to let go. “And hey,” he said as lightly and nonchalantly and _normal_ as he could muster, “technically, she's wasted four years of your life, too, so—“ he shrugged “—I guess that makes you even.”

Steve stared at him, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, his expression just a little incredulous. “If that was an attempt to make me feel better, you gonna have to try again because it's not working.”

“Oh, you want me to make you feel better?” Danny asked and didn't wait for an answer. “Okay, how's this, your thing is done.” He gestured at the IV bag. “So I'm gonna go find Alani and get you out of here and home, how about that? Would that make you feel better, cheer you up?”

“Yes,” Steve answered and nodded exaggeratedly. He started tugging at the IV line in his hand. “That would be fantastic.”

“Stop messing with that thing,” Danny ordered with a stern look at Steve as he hopped off his roller stool and headed to the door to go find Alani.

He opened the door and almost walked right into Jerry.

Jerry frowned at him, then glanced at the 'Trauma 2' sign on the door and made a 'huh' sound. Then he frowned again and shrugged. “Hey,” he said, eventually. “I've been looking for you guys.” He craned his neck to try and look inside the room.

“Well, you found us,” Danny told him and tried to take a look around the ER to find Alani but all he could see is Jerry's red t-shirt. “You seen the nurse?” he asked him irritably.

Jerry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Lot's of nurses out there,” he said. “How's Steve? Is something wrong?”

Danny waved a dismissive hand at him. “He's fine, ready to get out of here, actually.”

“Oh.” Jerry looked surprised for a second and then smiled broadly. “Guess it's a good thing I brought these,” he said, held up a plastic bag and dangled it in front of Danny's eyes.

Danny squinted at the logo and recognized it was from a Chinese takeout restaurant. “What is that, your mid-day snack?”

Jerry jerked the bag away and scowled at him. “It's a change of clothes for Steve.”

“Oh.” Danny only realized now that there may have been a gigantic flaw in his plan to get Steve out of here. The clothes he'd come in with had probably already been incinerated.

Jerry started fidgeting with the bag and looked down. “I still have a key to his house from when I was staying there. You know, for emergencies.”

Danny and Jerry both knew this was not the kind of emergency with which in mind the arrangement had been made. Steve had (after hours of pleading and begging) agreed to let Jerry keep a key — just in case the Chinese should decide to retaliate after all and he needed a safe place to hide.

“Thanks, that's good thinking, Jerry,” Danny said and made grabby hands at the bag. Now he just needed to find Alani to get rid of the IV.

“I once cut my arm on a very accurate replica of Darth Maul's laser sword from Episode I,” Jerry decided to explain unsolicited, rubbing his left bicep at the memory. “I had to buy one of those ridiculous t-shirts from the gift shop, so I figured, you know, a change of clothes is never a bad idea after a trip to the ER.”

Danny stared open-mouthed at the guy. “You cut your arm on… But how—“ Before he could form a proper question though, Danny decided he didn't want to know the answer. “Never mind.”

Jerry shrugged and finally handed over the bag.

“Weren't you looking for a nurse?” he asked just as Danny turned around to go back inside the trauma room. He completed the three-sixty turn and tried to look past Jerry again.

“Yeah,” he said, remembering why he'd come out here in the first place. “You seen one in blue, about yay-high, kind of mean?”

“Alani?” Jerry asked with a knowing smile. “She told me where you guys are. Said to tell you she's got another patient and that she'll be in as soon as she's free.” He paused and tried to sneak another look into the room behind Danny. “If you guys are getting ready to get out of here, do you want me to bring my mom's car around or something?”

Danny frowned suspiciously. “Why?”

“Dude, no offense, but have you seen your car? It's leaking fluids all over the parking lot. Besides, my mom's car is gonna be a lot easier for him to get in and out of.”

Danny bristled a little but then nodded because Jerry actually had a point. “Okay, fine,” he said and shrugged.

Jerry craned his neck again. “Before I go, can I just—“

“No!” Alani's voice cut in from the side. “And neither can you,” she said to Danny as she walked up to them. With her hands on her hips, she stared down at the plastic bag in Danny's hand. “Clothes?”

Danny only nodded. At Alani's insistent stare, he handed the bag over to her.

“All right, I'll do a quick check and get him ready to go,” she said and pushed past Danny. “Ten minutes,” she added, calling over her shoulder.

She moved to shut the door but Danny managed to squeeze in just in time. “Hey!” he called to Steve. “I'm getting kicked out, babe. You gonna be okay?”

Alani glared at him. She then tried to push the door shut and Danny out of the room with it. Danny put up resistance until he heard Steve's “I'm good, Danno.”

The door clicked shut in front of his face. “Behave yourself!” he yelled at it.

Jerry gave him a dubious sideways glance.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Why are you still here? Didn't you want to bring the car around?”

“On my way,” Jerry said with placatingly raised hands and then headed for the main entrance.

He just missed Kono and Chin rushing into the ER.

“Hey,” Kono said a little breathlessly as they walked up to Danny, “what did we miss?”

Danny gave a dismissive wave with his hand and shrugged. “You know, the usual. Jerry crashed a small plane in the middle of the city, _I_ have been shot at by a machine and a person. And Steve,” he rolled his hand, “Steve did, you know, his thing.”

Kono rolled her eyes.

“I think Lou had a good time, though,” Danny added.

Chin gave him a look, an amused smile curving his lips. “How's Steve?” he asked in that tone that implied infinite patience.

Danny rubbed his brow and glanced over his shoulder at the door to the trauma room. “He's fine, actually. They— they're letting him go. The nurse is getting him ready.”

While Chin just looked mildly impressed, Kono glared at him. “Dude, on the phone you made it sound like you were preparing to donate a pint.”

Kono was tall and got kinda scary when she was pissed so Danny took a respectful half-step back and bumped into the door. At least he managed to huff at her irritably. “He was bleeding all over the place.”

“If they're letting him go, it couldn't have been that bad,” Chin said, all calm and reasonable.

Danny narrowed his eyes at him. “You weren't there.”

Chin raised his hands defensively. “You're right,” he said, his tone conciliatory, border-lining on patronizing, but Danny decided to let it slide. “Let's all just be glad that he's all right, okay?”

Amen to that, Danny thought and sighed.

  


**to be continued…**

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For continuity's sake, I'm assuming there was a time gap between the events of episode 5.01 and the final scene where Reyes confronts Danny at his house (5.02 starts with Danny interrogating Reyes at HQ and Steve had obviously recovered by then).
> 
> Warnings: alcohol.

##  **Someday**

Chapter 8

  


“Twelve days. Maybe ten.” The guy paused, shook his head and shrugged. “No guarantees, though. Could take up to two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Danny gaped at him. Hadn't he just said something about ten days?

“Worst case scenario.” The mechanic wiped his hands on his dark coveralls and then held out one of them. When Danny hesitated to hand over the keys, the man gave another shrug. “It's a lot of holes, man,” he said and scratched at his thick beard. “I won't know for sure until I take her apart.”

The idea alone made Danny cringe. The shrill whining of a grinder somewhere in the back of the garage didn't help either.

“It all depends on what kind of damage I find. The fact that you drove her here is a good sign, though,” the guy added.

Danny appreciated the optimism.

Reluctantly, he handed over the keys to the Camaro and told the guy to send the bill to the governor.

He then called a cab and gave the driver Steve's address instead of his own.

Jerry's mom's offensively green car was still parked in the driveway in front of the house when Danny arrived. And it was Jerry who opened the door when Danny rung the bell.

“Hey,” the big guy said, a little surprised.

“Hey,” Danny echoed and frowned.

Jerry just stood there, like he was waiting for something. A secret password maybe, or a pizza delivery. “You gonna let me in or what?” Danny asked impatiently, waving a hand at Jerry blocking the door.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered absently and then stepped to the side. “I didn't expect you to come by so soon… or at all.” He sounded almost disappointed.

Feeling a bit irritated, Danny gave Jerry a glare and squeezed by him and into the living room. Jerry shut the door and headed to the kitchen, mumbling something about beer. Danny ignored him and found Steve's sitting in the lounge chair, both legs up on the footrest. He was digging into a take-out carton with a pair of chopsticks, the two balloons bumping into each other above his head.

“That was fast,” Steve mumbled around a grin and a mouthful of garlic shrimp in a way of greeting. “Thought you wanted to take the long way?”

Danny gave him a look. “Well, it's no fun when my baby is rattling like a pachinko machine.”

He dropped down onto the couch and peeked into the other take-out carton on the table. Jerry had apparently already finished that one. He waved a hand at the box Steve was holding. “You feel like sharing?” he asked hopefully.

Steve scowled and tugged the carton protectively against his chest. “Get your own.”

Danny frowned at him, wondering if maybe Alani had forced some happy pills on Steve before she let him leave the hospital. Or maybe Steve had already spent too much time defending his portion of the meal from Jerry.

Danny eyed the big guy suspiciously as he came back to the living room. He handed Danny a beer and plopped down on the couch next to him. “Steve and I were just discussing the counterfeiting operation,” Jerry said with a sense of importance. He grabbed his empty box from the table and seemed surprised to find that there's no food left in it. He shrugged and put it back.

“You were?” Danny asked, twisting the cap off his bottle. “Now?” He looked pointedly over to Steve who gave a shrug.

“I promised I'd look into the case.” He popped another shrimp into his mouth.

Danny pursed his lips. He wondered when this obsession of Jerry's had became something commonly referred to as a _case_. “Now?” Danny repeated and added, “here?”

Steve just shrugged again and used the chopsticks to gesture at his bum leg. “Not like I'm going anywhere to do anything else,” he grumbled miserably.

Danny stared at him. It wasn't like they had cut off the whole leg. “You're bored already?” he asked incredulously. “You haven't even finished your food.”

Steve just glared back. “Call it a preemptive strike.”

“I'll call it insane because that's what it is.” Danny huffed. “Okay, listen, I'll do you a favor. Tomorrow, first thing, I'll come by and haul your sorry ass to the office.” Actually, though, Danny was going to do himself (and Kono and Chin) the favor. They'd crashed a small airplane somewhere in downtown Honolulu today. There was no way Steve was gonna get out of the paperwork for this one.

“Really?” Steve asked, actually perking up in his seat.

Danny took a long sip from his beer. He'd have to get a rental car first thing tomorrow morning. He put the bottle down and raised a warning finger. “Conditions, though,” he said seriously.

Pursing his lips, Steve frowned apprehensively. “What?”

“First,” Danny announced, “no more talk about antique bookshops or libraries in Düsseldorf for today.”

“But—“ Jerry started to object but Danny cut him off with a look.

“Second,” he went on, “hand over that garlic shrimp.”

Steve clutched the box more tightly again. “I got shot for this,” he said, over-dramatically. “I _bled_ for this.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yes, you did. All over me. Now hand it over.” He made grabby hands at the carton.

Steve peeked longingly into the box before he stuck the chopsticks into the remaining food and held it out to Danny. It was amazing how scared the guy was of spending any amount of time at home with nothing to do.

The box felt too light when Danny peeled it from Steve's clingy hands. A look inside confirmed his suspicions. There was a lonely pink shrimp sitting in a small bed of crumbly garlic-fried rice at the bottom of the container.

Danny looked up and glared at Steve. “What's this?” he asked. “I don't want this.”

“Then give it back.” The neanderthal was already close to falling out of the chair, he was bent so far over the arm rest to snatch the box back from Danny's hands.

Danny tugged it out of his reach but raised a warning finger at him. “Hey, mind your leg, please,” he scolded. “Alani's gonna kill us both if I have to take you back to the ER because you popped your stitches over a single, sad shrimp.”

With an exasperated sigh, Steve settled back into the chair.

“It's a good shrimp, though,” Jerry opined from Danny's left.

Steve nodded. “It is a good shrimp,” he agreed wistfully.

“Do you guys and the shrimp want some time alone or something?”

“I'm gonna have to take a raincheck on that,” Jerry said as he levered himself up from the couch.

“Where you going, Jerry?” Steve asked. Danny had no trouble picking up on the suspicious tone in his voice.

Jerry, however, seemed to miss it. Because instead of doing the smart thing and making up some lie, he went for the truth. “I wanna go back to the bookstore, see if anything happens after they close.” Danny thought the guy sounded a little too excited about the prospect of sitting in a car, looking at a storefront for hours.

Stupid, stupid Jerry.

Danny hung his head and put the stupid box with the stupid shrimp on the coffee table. He picked his beer back up and took a long swallow. He was just too tired for a repeat of their earlier conversation about how it was against the law to stalk people.

“Jerry, come on,” Steve said. His tone was half begging, half authoritative. He twisted in his chair, leaned once again over the armrest to look after Jerry as he made his way to the front door, undeterred.

“I'll run a background on the owner from the office tomorrow,” Steve offered.

With his hand wrapped around the door handle, Jerry hesitated. He sighed. “I don't think you'll find much on the guy. He knows how to cover his tracks.”

Danny figured the guy was probably so good at it because there were no actual tracks to be covered in the first place.

“Let me at least look into it before you do anything else.”

“I'm not gonna really _do_ anything,” Jerry argued. “I'll just observe. He won't know I'm watching.”

“Jerry,” Steve started to object, but as he shifted his weight in the chair, the movement must have pulled on the wound in his leg because he cut himself off with sharp hiss. And that was it, Danny's had enough of this.

“You know what, Jer, sorry to kill your buzz but you got more important things to do tonight,” he announced and took another swig from his beer.

Jerry stared at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Exasperated, Danny spread his hands wide. “What do I mean?” Danny pointed the index finger of his beer-free hand at the guy. “You, my friend, _crashed a plane_ today. With a drone. I'm pretty sure the Governor is gonna want to personally take your statement on that one.”

Jerry's eyes widened and he gulped a few times.

“But,” Danny added, deciding to let him off the hook quick and easy, “for tonight, I guess it's just gonna be you and Grover.”

“Oh, thank god,” Jerry sighed, relieved. “I'm not good with authority figures,” he added and then frowned. “Not that Captain Grover isn't an authority figure. I… just— the Governor is—“

“We get it,” Danny assured him, beer-free hand raised placatingly. “Just go,” he said, making a shooing gesture, “they're waiting for you at the Palace.“

Jerry swallowed again. “All right,” he then said and straightened his posture, inching up his chin. “I guess duty calls.” He all but saluted before he opened the door. “Wish me luck.”

And then he was gone. Closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the cushions, Danny slowly exhaled a deep breath.

“What the hell?” Steve's voice accused from his right.

Danny opened his eyes again to glare at him. “What?”

Steve jerked a thumb at the door. “You lied to him.”

Danny pointedly directed his glare at where Steve's other hand was still rubbing over the bandage around his thigh, close to where the gunshot wound was. “I did you a favor,” he said and then pushed himself up and propped his arms up on his thighs. “You good?” he asked, nodding at the leg.

Steve's hand stilled and he pulled it away. “Yeah, fine.” He sounded a little defensive.

There was no blood seeping through the bandage so Danny decided to trust Steve's judgement for once.

“No one's expecting Jerry to come in for a statement today.”

“I know,” Danny said and nodded. “You should probably call Grover to give him the heads up.”

“Me?”

“You're the boss, aren't you?”

Steve just shook his head and threw up his hands.

Danny grinned and grabbed the remote from the coffee table.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“You know, I got an uncle. His name is Verne and he's almost eighty. He moves more gracefully than you do.”

There was an _oompf_ kind of sound as the Steve-shaped, blue-tinged blob dropped back down into the lounge chair. It was followed by a couple of heavy breaths and some crackling of a plastic bag.

Oh! He brought snacks.

Danny observed the whole thing from his more than comfortable position on the couch. He was sprawled all over the thing, sitting up just enough to get a good angle on the TV — and on Steve.

The light reflected off of the shiny parts of the crutches as Steve set them both down next to each other against the coffee table. “Good for your uncle Verne,” he said flatly.

“He's had hip replacement surgery twice _and_ lost three toes in the Vietnam war,” Danny pointed out and then frowned. Maybe it was just two toes… or three fingers? He couldn't really remem— “Hey!”

Something tiny had just smacked into his face, right next to his nose, under the left eye. Danny grabbed at his shirt over his chest until his stiff, uncoordinated fingers found the offending object. He brought it up close in front of his eyes and squinted at it. “You threw a pretzel at me?”

Steve chuckled stupidly.

Danny scowled and popped the pretzel into his mouth. “You were supposed to turn the lights on,” he mumbled around it.

“Kind of had my hands full,” Steve said and rustled the pretzel bag in his lap to emphasize his point.

“You used to be more efficient.”

“Fuck you.”

Danny grinned. Which Steve probably couldn't even see. Because it was kind of dark in here. Because Steve had forgotten to turn on the lights on his way back from the bathroom. Idiot.

Rolling his eyes, Danny grabbed for the beer bottle on the floor next to the couch. Drinking from a bottle while sort of lying down was a skill he'd perfected in the last two hours. But when he brought the bottle up to his lips, he wondered if it had sprung a leak or something because when had he almost finished number— what? Four?

“Five,” Steve said.

Danny shifted his gaze to the straight line of empty beer bottles on the coffee table.

Oh, right. This was number five.

Wait.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You're drunk,” Steve assessed.

Danny stretched toward the table as far as his super comfortable position on the couch allowed and put number five next to number four. “I'm not drunk, I'm pleasantly buzzed,” he informed Steve.

Seriously, who got drunk after five beers?

Maybe people who had one single sad shrimp for dinner did.

Thinking about dinner and the _constant_ crackling of the pretzel bag made his stomach grumble.

“You feel like sharing those?” he asked and stretched out both arms, ready to catch the bag.

“Do _you_ feel like sharing the next round?” Steve countered, waving a hand at the bottles on the coffee table.

Danny glared at him, spreading his arms wide in exasperation. “You're on medication.”

“It's a _beer_.”

“It's still alcohol.”

How was it that even (though only very slightly) inebriated, Danny was still the one with all the common sense?

“And besides, I'm not getting up to get you a beer. In fact, I'm not getting up at all, ever.” To underline his point, her brought up his left leg and crossed it over the right one resting outstretched on the couch.

“Good,” Steve said, “'cause you and your _pleasant buzz_ are not driving.”

Danny let out a snort. “I don't have a car anymore.”

“Right.”

They fell silent for a while and Steve seemed to focus on the second period of the Devils/Rangers hockey game that had just started. Danny tried to do the same. But the TV in the otherwise dark room was just a little too glaringly _bright_ and started to hurt his eyes. He'd been squinting at the screen all through the first period.

Besides, it was a rerun of a game from last season so who really gave a shit?

Danny's gaze kept drifting and, surprisingly, it found Steve more often than not. He, like everything else, seemed to glow in the dim, blue-tinged light that came off of the TV. And Danny couldn't help but stare at how those crazy long eyelashes (and, yeah, apparently he had _noticed_ those a while ago) seemed even longer, how the shadows of the darkness accentuate high cheekbones and that _scruffy_ jawline.

Steve looked so… _beaut_ — Oh Jesus fuck, he was _really_ drunk.

Groaning, Danny rolled onto his side and threw his right arm over his head to cover his drunk eyes in order to shut off his drunk brain.

“You all right?” Steve asked.

“I'm very, very drunk,” Danny mumbled into the cushions.

Steve let out a chuckle. “You want a sandwich or something?” he asked.

“You wanna make me a sandwich?” Danny risked a peek from under his arm only to find intense, dark eyes studying him. And, god, it was like that teasing yet sympathetic look made something _tingle_ inside his chest and belly. Danny hoped to heaven that it was alcohol-induced nausea and that he was about to puke his guts out all over Steve's carpet. Because the only other logical explanation for that _feeling_ was that one of those things from the Alien movies was growing inside his stomach and really, the island had had quite a day and could probably do without an alien apocalypse.

“Uh, thanks for the offer,” he said, burying his face deeper in the couch, “but no, thanks.”

“You sure you're okay?”

Danny groaned. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Steve was silent for a beat before he spoke again. “So do you just wanna crash here or do you want me to call Amber?”

“Amber?” Danny echoed stupidly before his very, very drunk brain got a chance to think about it.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “Amber. You know, cute, blonde, pretty.” He paused, apparently for the dramatic effect. “Your _girlfriend_.”

“I know who she is, thank you.” And no way in hell was Danny going to burden her with the intoxicated mess he was right now. She deserved so much better. In a lot of ways, she deserved better.

Danny inhaled as deep a breath as he could with his face half mushed into the couch and his arm still slung over his head. Because he had avoided thinking about his relationship with Amber for the last few weeks and now seemed like a really awful time to analyze it.

“And?” Steve prompted and Danny didn't know what he wanted to hear. Because crashing on the couch seemed like a stupid idea when he couldn't even _look_ at Steve without, apparently, having a stroke.

“Don't call her, please,” Danny said. “We actually haven't seen each other in over a week and I'm sure picking up my drunk ass at your place in the middle of the night is not the kind of date she's looking for.”

“You're not that drunk and it's not even nine,” Steve said matter of factly.

“Trust me, I am very drunk.”

Steve snorted at that but when he spoke, his voice was serious. “Everything okay between you two?”

Of course, Steve would ask… all soft and genuinely concerned. And if Danny was honest with himself, then the answer to that question was probably 'no'. But 'no' was also the complicated answer and the last thing Danny wanted was to unload all his doubts about his relationship with his ridiculously young and attractive girlfriend on Steve. Not after today.

So Danny mumbled a “yeah, 'course” into the couch and hoped Steve would just let it go.

“So why you haven't seen her in over a week?” Steve paused, waited for an answer that Danny… didn't have. “It's been a quiet week.”

“Shooting drone, Steven,” Danny reminded him in a 'we have to work on your definition of quiet' kind of way.

“That was _today._ ”

He did have a point there, so Danny just made a non-committal grunting noise, still holding out hope that Steve would maybe stop digging.

Steve sighed. “Look,” he said, “I'm just saying, if there's something going on… you can tell me to shut up, or you can talk to me about it.”

Oh yeah, that was fair. Using the same thing he'd said to Steve earlier against him now.

Slowly, Danny peeled the arm still covering his eyes away from his head. The position had cut off the circulation and it was going numb. He rolled to lie on his back to face the ceiling instead of Steve and crossed one functioning and one floppy arm over his chest. He exhaled. “Well.”

It was the only thing he said for a while. He had actively avoided thinking about this so he didn't even _know_ what to think here, let alone what to say.

“Is it Grace?” Steve asked quietly.

“Grace?” Danny echoed. _Grace?_

He unfolded his arms and scooted up on the couch to look at Steve. Because no matter how drunk he was and no matter how many more strokes it was going to give him, there had to be a reason why Steve had just brought up _Grace._ And Grace meant it was serious and demanded his undivided attention.

“Why would you ask that?”

Steve just looked at him and even in the faint light of the TV, Danny could tell he wanted to take it back. “I just—“ He trailed off with a shrug.

Danny narrowed his eyes at him. “Did she say something to you?”

Steve fidgeted a little in his seat and averted his gaze back to the TV as he opened and closed his mouth, apparently not sure what to say. He sighed. “When we were out buying the syrup a couple weeks ago she— she mentioned that the three of you never had breakfast together, that's all.”

“What? That's not—“ Danny started to argue but then realized that he couldn't recall ever having breakfast with Grace and Amber. “You know, that may actually be true.”

They'd had shave ice twice and dinner once. If you counted nachos and popcorn at the movies as dinner, that was. Which, as far as food went, was a pretty shitty record for a— what? Seven, eight months relationship? God, he didn't even know.

But there had definitely been no breakfast. Because of those seven or eight months, Grace had only even known that Amber existed for just over two. And Amber never stayed over at his place when he had Grace. And she had never just shown up one morning to make breakfast for him with Grace because they had decided to make secret plans of surprising him. The three of them had never had fantastic French toast with some fancy brand one hundred percent pure Maple syrup together.

That had never happened with anyone. Not even with Gabby. Just with—

“Grace used to love Gabby's pancakes,” Danny said out loud, distracting himself. There had been good, even great breakfasts with Gabby and Grace. With her gooey-in-the-middle pancakes that were better than his.

Gabby had been good with Grace. She had genuinely cared about her, built a relationship with her… which had made letting her go that much harder.

But Amber… It wasn't like she didn't care. She asked about Grace every now and then. But she never really made any kind of push or real effort to spend more time with her, to get to know her better.

“Amber, she's, you know, more of a soy latte with an extra shot of espresso kind of person.”

“Meaning?” Steve asked.

Danny shrugged. “It's not very kid-friendly.”

“It's not very you-friendly either,” Steve pointed out. “It's just breakfast, Danny,” he added.

French toast with one hundred percent pure Maple syrup was not just breakfast.

“It's a metaphor.”

“A metaphor?”

“Yes, a metaphor, or an allegory or whatever you wanna call it.”

“For what?”

“Amber's relationship with Grace.”

Steve hesitated. “Are you saying she's not kid-friendly?”

“No, that's— that's not what I'm saying.” Danny paused. _Was_ that not what he was saying? What the hell was he even saying? It was hard to say when you didn't even know what you were thinking because all your mind could think about was stupid French toast. “Or maybe it is, I don't know.”

“Danny,“ Steve said in that exasperated tone.

Danny ran a hand over his face and through his hair and shrugged. “I don't know, maybe it's an age thing.”

“An age thing?” Steve echoed dubiously.

“Yeah,” Danny said slowly. “I mean, I think Grace is at a weird age for her. She's not a cute, cuddly little baby anymore,” — at least that was what Gracie kept telling him — “but she isn't old enough to really, I don't know, have anything in common with her, either, I guess.”

Which, thinking about Gabby and her and Grace's mani-pedis, might not even be entirely true. Amber was into the whole spa-thing, right? There had to be some common ground there. Maybe the two just hadn't found it yet.

Steve just looked at him, his brow furrowed.

“Say something,” Danny demanded.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don't know.” Danny stared back at Steve. And he thought that maybe he wanted to hear something like, 'You and Gracie are a package deal and if Amber and Grace don't get along then maybe you have to do what you've always done and put Grace first,' but he wasn't sure so he said, “that's why I need you to say it.”

He had probably sounded a little desperate and pathetic just now because Steve smiled softly and cast his gaze down. He shook his head. “Sorry, man, but I think you need to figure this one out on your own.” He looked back up to meet Danny's eyes. “Talk to Amber.”

“It's not just Grace. It's also us.” Danny paused briefly, cleared his throat. “I mean, Amber and me,” he clarified. Not that it was necessary, not for Steve's sake anyway. It was just his beer-clouded brain that had somehow, somewhere constructed a double meaning of 'us' that didn't involve Amber.

“It's like we're stuck in this dating phase,” Danny added. “I'm not twenty five anymore. I'm too old to be dating for months and months. I— I want something serious, you know. But Amber… I mean, she came here to get a fresh start, build a new life… It's like she isn't ready for that kind of thing.”

“Danny.”

He rolled his eyes at himself. Steve didn't need to hear any of this. Not today. “Yeah, I know,” Danny said, “I should talk to her.” He shifted to lie on his side again to look at the TV. He caught one of the guys on his team skate to the penalty box and muttered, “What a stupid call,” just to change the subject.

He could feel Steve's eyes on him for a long moment, but eventually, he shifted his focus back on the TV as well.

Danny barely followed the game. He kept thinking about breakfast and Grace, Gabby, gooey-in-the-middle pancakes and French toast with and without syrup, and soy lattes. It was all a jumbled breakfasty mess that made him hungry and his head spin like a goddamn Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Danny, I think you should eat something,” Steve's voice suddenly cut through the haze in his head.

Danny blinked his eyes open, not sure when he'd closed them. Steve was sitting on the edge of the lounge chair, looking at him with those intense eyes.

“What?” Danny muttered.

“You should eat something,” Steve repeated. He stood, looked down at Danny still lying on the couch and Danny just stupidly stared back up at him.

Steve took a step toward him and another and somewhere at the back of his head Danny thought that Steve should maybe really use his crutches. He opened his mouth to say something but Steve was suddenly right in front of him, sitting down on the coffee table, his shins pressed up against the couch, knees almost touching Danny.

“You should eat something,” Steve said yet again.

Wide-eyed, Danny tracked his every move as he turned to his side, reached for something on the table next to him.

There were only empty beer bottles on the table. Weren't there empty beer bottles right where Steve was sitting?

“You should eat this.” Steve was suddenly holding a plate in one hand. It was a heap of slices of French toast, sticky with golden syrup, glistening in the bright sunlight.

Steve smiled.

“Here,” he said and held a fork with a huge bite on it out to Danny.

Danny stared at it. Slowly, he opened his mouth.

He smiled as he chewed. The toast tasted like heaven.

Steve's hand came up again. The fork was gone.

The hand moved to cup Danny's jaw, his cheek. Danny swallowed.

Steve ran his thumb over his lower lip, collecting the syrup sticking to it and then leaned in.

Danny closed his eyes, whispered Steve's name, right before their lips touched.

And then his leg twitched, the world quaked, shifted violently.

Danny startled, opened his eyes wide but saw nothing. He blinked his eyes, again and again, but he still couldn't see.

It was dark, the middle of the night, he belatedly realized.

He felt the soft weight of a blanket settled all over his body.

He must have fallen asleep.

Danny exhaled slowly, shifted his body and stilled when he felt the zipper of his pants press too tightly against his dick through the soft cotton of his boxers. Only then he remembered the dream, the _kiss_.

His lungs squeezed as he tried to suck in a new breath.

_Shhhhhit_ .

The TV was dark, Steve wasn't there. He had probably gone to bed.

Good.

Danny hastily scrambled out from under the blanket, stumbled clumsily to his feet. His legs and arms and fingers, his head, everything was uncoordinated and hazy as he struggled to put his shoes on.

He didn't look back, just headed for the door and out.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	9. Chapter 9

##  **Someday**

Chapter 9

  


“Danny? What are you doing here?” Kono frowned, squinting sleepy, bleary eyes as she took in his disheveled appearance. “Everything okay?”

“Thank god, you're here,” Danny said and started pushing her gently aside to squeeze through the door. “Thought you might be at Adam's.”

A strong hand curled around his elbow and stopped him on the threshold. “Adam's here,” she all but hissed into his ear. It was only then that he noticed the faint scent of men's cologne that clung to the oversized dress shirt she was wearing.

As if on cue, Adam appeared in the door to the bedroom. “Kono?” he asked. “Everything all right?”

Kono let go of Danny's arm and looked over her shoulder at Adam. “It's okay, it's just Danny,” she said with a small shake of her head.

“Hey,” Danny called quietly across the room and waved a hand awkwardly.

Adam just forced a smile and a nod and then disappeared back into the bedroom.

Danny winced. “This is a bad time,” he decided.

Kono turned back to face him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Yeah, no kidding, it's like five thirty in the morning.”

“I'm sorry,” Danny said quickly. What the hell was he thinking coming here? He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I'll just—“

“Hey.” Kono's hand was back on his arm, stopping him as he started to turn around and leave. “What's wrong?”

Danny just looked at her and, god, she looked tired and he really shouldn't have come here.

“Danny?”

He sighed. “I think I'm going crazy.” He sounded exactly as miserable and confused as he felt.

Kono frowned at him, skeptical and maybe a bit concerned. “Come on.”

“I'm serious,” he insisted.

The frown disappeared as Kono raised her eyebrows. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Why— why do you think you're going crazy?”

Danny bit his lip. His gaze shifted to the half-open bedroom door. There was no way he was having this conversation with Adam in the next room, possibly listening to every crazy thing he needed to get off his chest.

Kono's eyes follow his line of sight and, bless her, she understood immediately. “Okay,” she simply said. She let go of his arm and took the cardigan from the hanger next to the door. She wrapped it around her shoulders, grabbed a set of keys from the bowl on the counter and then pushed him out the door, nodding at her car in the driveway. “Come on.”

As Danny trotted after her, he wondered if she was just going to drive him home. But when he settled into the passenger seat and quietly pulled the door shut, he found her just sitting there next to him, looking at him expectantly. “Okay, now spill.”

Danny inhaled a deep breath and slowly, very slowly let it go. “I think— I think I might be having some kind of late— delayed stress reaction or something… I don't know,” he said and then proceeded to inhale another couple of deep breaths — because it all of a sudden felt like he'd been holding his breath ever since he had woken up on Steve's couch.

All the heavy breathing seemed to alarm Kono. “Do— do you need me to call 911 or—“

“No,” Danny cut her off. “No, I—“ He shrugged. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. “I don't know, maybe?” he said with a hysterical laugh.

Kono turned, pulled up one leg so she was sitting sideways on the driver's seat, facing him. “Danny,” she said with barely controlled calmness in her voice, “you're seriously freaking me out right now. What's going on with you?”

Danny heaved a sigh. He owed Kono to start making sense, he just didn't know where to start. “I— I woke up with a—“ he gestured at his crotch with a hand “—you know.”

Kono stared at his pants for a dumbfounded moment and then dropped her head sideways into the headrest, grimacing. “Okay, first off, serious overshare, dude.” She sounded a bit disturbed. “And second, you have a daughter. Don't you think it's a little late for a pre-pubescent 'oh my god, I have a dick' crisis?”

Danny nodded exaggeratedly. “Yeah, exactly, I have a daughter. With my ex-wife. Who's a _woman_. And I have a girlfriend who is also a woman.”

Kono dipped her head forward, as if she was waiting for more of an explanation. “So… but… therefore…?” she prompted.

“So. Dreaming about a— a _dude_ is not supposed to give me a…” He helplessly pointed at his dick again.

That had Kono sitting up straight again. She looked suddenly very awake. “Oooh.”

“Yeah, oh!” Danny echoed loudly and maybe an octave higher than he cared to admit. “And— and it's not just the dream. I've had these— these _feelings_ lately, you know. Strange, _strange_ feelings.” It was getting harder to breathe. He dropped his head back and closes his eyes.

Kono was suspiciously quiet next to him.

He opened his eyes again and rolled his head to the left, looking at her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Good feelings?” she asked and Danny didn't miss the somewhat excited twinkle in her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said and bit the inside of his bottom lip, remembering warm Maple syrup and how the word endearing kept coming up. “Really good feelings.”

Kono just grinned stupidly.

“What?” Danny hissed at her. “This is serious.”

“Is it?” she asked. “I mean, I get that you're a little freaked if this is the first time you're— what? Crushing on a guy? But it's not the end of the world.”

“It kind of is,” Danny disagreed. “I'm too old for this. I am very comfortable in my heterosexuality.”

Kono snorted. “I guess you'll have to get comfortable with your latent bisexuality or, I don't know, sexual fluidity.”

Right.

Danny rolled his eyes. This was just… not really helping. He cleared his throat. “What if it's just the one guy. I mean, I've never felt… attracted to another man before.”

Kono shrugged. “Must be a special guy,” she said, smiling.

Danny wanted to laugh, hysterically, manically, but choked it down because she… she had _no idea_.

He must have looked like he was actually chocking because Kono reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Look, call it whatever you want. Don't call it anything. Who cares if it's a man or a woman? If you both feel the same way then—“

Danny couldn't choke down the sarcastic snort this time.

“What?”

“I'm pretty sure we don't feel the same way.”

Kono herself would have probably told him that if she knew just who they were talking about.

But she didn't, so she quirked up an eyebrow and asked, “Pretty sure?”

“Yeah,” Danny answered with a heavy sigh. Like, really, really pretty, pretty sure.

“But not a hundred percent?”

“I— It doesn't matter because I'm not gonna try to find out.”

Kono huffed, dissatisfied. “Do I know this guy?”

Danny could tell from her tone that she didn't expect the answer to be yes. He suddenly really needed Kono to know who the _guy_ was because he needed her to know just how fucked up this was and he really, really needed her to somehow make all this better or go away, fix it. But he just couldn't bring himself to say anything all of a sudden. His mouth felt incredibly dry. He needed a glass of water.

“Danny?” Kono snapped him out of the thought.

His chest felt so tight, the breath he dragged into his lungs _hurt_. “You have to promise me not to say anything,” he forced out. “To anyone.”

The hand on his shoulder moved and then there was a dull pain that distracted him from his burning lungs because she'd just punched him in the arm. “Dude,” was all she said and yeah, Danny _knew_ Kono wasn't going to say anything to anybody about any of this without his express permission (which she wouldn't get, ever).

Danny closed his eyes briefly. He exhaled. Looked at her. “It's Steve,” he said quietly.

Kono didn't do anything. She looked stunned.

Danny wanted to die. “Say something,” he begged.

Kono blinked and shook her head. Her shoulders lifted up. “It's just weird how I did and didn't expect that at the same time.”

Danny groaned. “You're so unhelpful.”

Kono's answer was another ( _hard_ ) punch to his shoulder. “Ow.”

He rubbed the smarting spot and glared at her.

Kono's expression softened. She pulled up the other leg on the seat, wrapped her arms around her knees and snuggled into the backrest. “What changed?” she asked softly and it was like she was settling in to talk _feelings_ and Danny just didn't think he was ready for any of that. He didn't want to over-analyze this, or analyze it at all, because what the hell was the point? This thing— it wasn't going anywhere. He just wanted it to go away.

He started fumbling with the door handle. “What do you mean?” he asked, feigning ignorance while he wondered if he could outrun Kono.

Kono huffed irritably. “I mean, you guys have known each other for four years now and—“

“Three years,” Danny interrupted her with a raised finger, “eleven months, two— no, three days, now. Exactly.” The last word was barely a whisper, because there was this warmth ballooning in his chest and it kind of took his breath away, _again_ , but in a weirdly good way.

Kono just blinked at him. “Right.”

“Don't give me that look,” Danny said and pointed the still raised finger in her direction. “ _He_ said that. Yesterday, at the audit.”

“Interesting,” Kono commented.

“ _Interesting_?” Exasperated, Danny spread his hands as wide as the small interior of the car allowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Kono firmly grabbed the hand that had just almost (accidentally) smacked her in the leg. “Stop changing the subject. What changed after all those years and months and days?”

Danny yanked his hand free. He sighed and sagged into the seat. “I don't know. He's— he's Steve, you know.” Danny rolled his eyes at himself. It was _Steve_. “Bane of my existence, control-freak, neanderthal, stupid idiot Steve fucking McGarrett.”

“And…?” Kono prompted, undeterred.

“And… nothing.” Danny shrugged. “I— I guess he's still the same. It's just…” He bit his lip and looked out the windshield. “A few weeks ago, he and Grace made breakfast for me. I woke up and he was _there_ , in my kitchen, making French toast because I made him French toast the morning after we got back from Afghanistan.” He smiled at the memory and realized he's been thinking a lot about that day for the past three weeks.

“He bought this fancy Maple syrup because he didn't have any and it just— it felt so _right_ to have him there, with us. For like two minutes it— _everything_ was just… perfect. And then he got a call from Catherine and the whole thing went to hell but… for a moment there he seemed so _happy_. You know, just like all the shit that keeps happening to him didn't matter.” Danny paused and swallowed because he just knew, in that precise moment, that he was absolutely hopeless.

He exhaled a shaky breath. “And… I want that. I— I didn't even realize it then but— I want that, every morning, every day… all the time.”

Kono, once again, was quiet.

“What?” he asked, turning his head to look at her again.

Her eyes looked weirdly glazed. “Wow,” she simply said.

“Wow?” Danny echoed. “What does 'wow' mean? 'Wow' doesn't help me.”

“No, I—“ Kono gave a hesitant shrug. “I just don't know what to say.”

“Say something other than wow,” Danny begged. “Say, Danny, you've lost your mind. Say, Danny, you want him to be happy because he's your friend. Say, Danny, that's just you feeling sorry for him and his shitty life. Say something. Please.”

Big, dark, sympathetic eyes looked at him. “I can't,” she said softly.

It was all the confirmation Danny needed and didn't want.

“And I can't… Jesus, I can't be…” He trailed off, his brain, his mouth, his entire body refusing to finish the thought. Because he _couldn't_ be…

“…in love with him?” Kos said.

_Yes._

“I can't.”

“Why not? Because he's a guy?”

“Because we're _friends_.” It was like the guy thing didn't even matter anymore. “We've been friends for four years. I don't want to… I _can't_ ruin that for him. There are too many people who've let him down. I don't want to be next.”

“What if… he feels the same way?” Kono asked.

Danny swallowed against the thing that was growing at the back of his throat. “He doesn't.”

Kono drew her brows together to gave him that determined frown. “You don't know that,” she said firmly. Like it was going to change anything. “You said he seemed happy with you and Grace.”

“That doesn't mean he feels the way I do.”

“He knows how long you two have known each other, to the day,” Kono pointed out stubbornly.

Danny snorted. “Because he's a control freak.”

“You think he knows that about just anyone?”

It's like they were playing some twisted game.

“I don't know,” Danny said. Exhausted, he decided to put an end to this ping pong match between hope and reality. “All I know is that I can't risk what we have.” And that was just the way it was, especially now. With all the shit that had been happening lately, Steve needed his _friend_ Danny.

“So, what?” Kono asked and that was exactly why Danny loved her. She wouldn't quit until he was happy. Danny felt sorry for her because this was a losing battle. “You're just gonna be miserable for the rest of your life?”

He shrugged. “If that's what it takes to make sure he doesn't get hurt again.”

And it was a good thing that Kono cared about Steve just as much as she cared about him. She sighed her acceptance, raked a hand through her sleep-tousled hair.

“What a day,” she groaned, staring out the window at the sunrise. “I feel like I need a drink.”

“Me too,” Danny agreed. “It's not even six.”

“Coffee?”

Danny looked up to the house, remembered Adam in the bedroom. “I— I don't wanna intrude.”

“It's a little late for that,” Kono laughed.

“Coffee sounds great.”

Kono patted his knee and got out of the car. Danny did, too. When he closed the door on his side, he looked at Kono over the roof of the car. “You wanna know who makes really good coffee?” he asked.

Kono raised her eyebrows.

“Steve,” Danny said and Kono rolled her eyes. “He does, he makes _great_ coffee.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


It took Danny five days to work up the courage to call Amber. He asked her to meet him after work at a quiet café that was off the tourist infested streets. They'd never been there before, it was neutral ground which, he figured, was best for a break-up.

God, he hated having to do this. But it wasn't fair to her to drag things out unnecessarily. He'd had plenty of time to think about this for the past few days. And while the realization that he had feelings for Steve may have been the catalyst for the decision to end things with Amber, it wasn't the only reason. In the long run, their relationship never would have worked.

_Steve_ , though.

Danny rolled his eyes as he locked up the rental he was now stuck with until his baby was fixed. He'd just given his Crankiness a ride home after he guy had spent yet another day limping around the office like a wounded animal. It was annoying on a good day. Today though, he'd been down right insufferable, constantly calling for updates as the functioning part of the team had been out on a case. He must have been bored out of his mind because as soon as they'd gotten back, he'd attempted to lecture Danny on how to properly write a police report. Supposedly, his wording was lacking a certain efficiency.

Said the guy who'd never even been in the vicinity of a police academy.

_God._

Aggravating and infuriating seemed to be his type. Rachel had driven him insane on a regular basis. Danny shuddered at the thought. He was not going to compare Steve to his ex-wife. It was too weird… but telling all the same. Because Amber didn't really fit the pattern. But then, neither did Gabby.

Maybe he didn't have a type. Maybe it didn't matter.

Maybe he should stop this before he ended up talking himself out of breaking up with Amber.

With a sigh, Danny scanned the seating area on the terrace. He decided on a quiet table half hidden by a large plant. A pretty waitress ambled over to him almost as soon as he'd sat down and handed him a menu.

Danny stared at it, realizing that he hadn't really thought this through. He didn't really want Amber to be armed with a steaming hot soy latte for this conversation, nor did he want to hang around and wait for the cheque if Amber decided to not just up and leave after he'd said what he came here to say. What he would say. Because he was going to do this. He was definitely going to do this.

“Hey.”

And there she was, all wavy, blonde hair and bright, beautiful smile, like an actual human ray of sunshine.

Danny was definitely going to do this.

He stood and leaned over to brush a quick kiss onto her cheek.

She gave him a strange look when he pulled back. He sat down again and gestured for her to do the same.

“Are you okay?” she asked, covering his hand on the table with her own.

“Yeah,” Danny said, dismissing her concern quickly with an insistent nod of his head. “Yeah, I'm fine.” He picked up the menu and held it out to her. “You wanna order something?”

“Danny.” Amber was looking at him with an odd expression, something between a worried frown and an amused smile. She took the menu but simply put it back down on the table. “You seem nervous. Why did you want to meet here?”

Her warm, delicate hand squeezed his. Maybe he shouldn't do this after all.

“I— I heard a lot of good things about this place. In fact, Kono would not shut up about it. They're supposed to have these vegan pastries that—“

“Danny,” Amber interrupted, looking at him with narrowed eyes as if she was trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. “What is this?” she asked.

Danny could only stare at her. She deserved so much better than him, so much more than he could give her.

He just couldn't bring himself to say it. Amber still understood, though.

“Oh,” she said. Her hand pulled away, just a few inches, hovering close to his. “You're breaking up with me, aren't you?” she asked.

Danny grimaced, feeling like a coward. “That— that's not fair, if you say it. I should say it.”

To his surprise, Amber smiled, even huffed out a small laugh. “You don't have to,” she said, shaking her head. She sank back into her chair a little, relaxing for the first time since she'd arrived. Danny felt himself do the same.

“I gotta admit, you're taking this a lot better than I expected.”

She sighed, averted her gaze down to the table. “It's not a complete surprise. Things have been different between us lately,” she said, regret and sadness bleeding into the tone of her previously light voice. “You've been distant.”

Danny nodded, casting his own gaze down when she looked up. “I know.”

“Is there someone else?” Amber asked after a beat.

Danny's throat tightened. He wasn't sure what the right answer to that question was. “It's not— I haven't—“ He clamped his mouth shut, took in a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “But it's not a mutual thing.”

He almost choked on the words.

“I'm sorry.”

The sympathetic tone of her voice surprised Danny. He looked back up to meet Amber's soft, caring eyes.

“You're sorry?” he asked. Shouldn't she be… more upset about all this?

“Well, you've given me a lot of time to think about us. About myself, too,” Amber said slowly. She stared off into the distance and heaved a sigh. “I came to Hawaii to start over. To figure out who I am and what my life is going to be.” She paused, shook her head. “I never expected to meet someone so soon. When I left New York, I promised myself to be single for at least a year,” she added with a slightly self-deprecating laugh.

“That didn't work out,” Danny observed.

“It didn't,” she agreed lightly. “I've never been good at… being on my own.” The smile faded from her lips. “Ever since middle school, there's always been a guy in my life. And none of them—“ She abruptly cut herself off. Biting her bottom lip, she closed her eyes briefly and gave a dismissive shake of her head. Then she looked back up at Danny and smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “You're probably the best one of them. So, I'm sorry because… I think you deserve to be happy.”

Danny reached over to cover her hand with his. “You do, too,” he told her. The was something in her eyes he couldn't quite identify. It looked a lot like sadness. Melancholy. Maybe it was bad memories. “I'm sorry,” he said. It was the only thing he could think of.

“Don't be. I— For me, this is like a second chance at a second chance. An opportunity to do this right.”

She pulled her hand out from under his and stood. Danny did the same. He hesitated. It was her who stepped around the table. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I hope he realizes what he's missing,” she whispered into his ear.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during 5.04.
> 
> Contains bits of dialogue from various episodes.
> 
> Warnings: Canonical character death.

##  **Someday**

Chapter 10

  


There was nothing like a Colombian drug trafficker threatening to kill your brother to take your mind off of being in love with your best friend.

These days, it seemed like worry, fear, regret and guilt canceled out everything else, overwrote every other emotion. Danny's world had narrowed itself down to Matt, Reyes and eighteen and a half million dollars. Nothing else mattered. Nothing would until he knew his brother was safe.

And yet, sometimes Steve still seemed to find ways to remind him. He kept saying stupid things like, _“I vote we go to Colombia and get him back.”_ And, _“We can get on a plane right now and settle this. I'll go through that door first.”_

He was being _Steve_. Ready, determined to do what needed to be done to get Matt back. Aware of the risk to himself but willing to take it anyway.

The level of selflessness was irritating and confusing. Danny just wanted him to stay away, to stay safe. But at the same time, he needed Steve close. Needed his advice, his support, his help to figure out what to do. But most of all, he needed Steve to keep him sane.

But it wasn't just Steve he needed. Chin had just sold his soul to his former brother in law for five and a half million dollars. Danny couldn't not accept it. He had no other options, no time left to try and figure out some other way.

He'd owe Chin for the rest of his life.

“You just worry about getting your brother back,” Chin said and Danny wished it was that simple. People didn't just hand out five and half million dollars. Especially not Gabriel Waincroft. There would be consequences, a price to pay. And all Danny could do was promise to be there for Chin when the time came.

“Okay, thank you.” Danny wrapped him into a one-armed hug. “Thank you, brother. I mean it.” Words couldn't express his gratitude, his relief.

“I gotta go,” Chin said as Danny stared at the money stacked high on his dining room table.

He looked up, wanted to thank Chin again but words failed him. He just nodded.

Chin patted Steve's shoulder. “Take care of him,” he said and Steve gave a firm nod in confirmation.

Danny waited until the door clicked shut behind Chin. He didn't want both him _and_ Steve to try to talk him out of what he was going to do.

He swallowed thickly and then locked eyes with Steve. “I'm going alone,” he stated, slowly and clearly.

Steve just looked at him. He pursed his lips, inhaled a sharp breath through his nose and folded his arms across his chest. “Okay,” he said and Danny knew it was too easy.

Steve nodded and gazed down at the money on the table. “Okay,” he said again. “Just one question.”

“And what's that?” Danny straightened his back and put his hands on his hips. Prepared himself to stand his ground, defend his decision.

Steve looked back up again, eyebrows raised. “How are you gonna get eighteen and a half million dollars through customs?”

Danny set his jaw, squared his shoulders. The question caught him off guard but he wasn't going to let it show. “I'll figure something out,” he claimed even though he wasn't sure what and how and when. There was a clock ticking over his head, counting down steadily, relentlessly. He had to get the money to Reyes soon or Matt was as good as dead.

“Not by Monday, you won't,” Steve said, matter of factly. He shrugged up one shoulder. “I can have us on a plane in two hours, no questions asked. I know people in the area, they can help us organize transportation on the ground.”

Danny held Steve's gaze as he considered his words.

_Us._

It was an offer that came with one clear condition. And the need, that instinct to get Matt out of there, home, safe, _now_ … it was almost enough to make him accept Steve's terms.

Almost.

Because all this, it reminded him too much of Jenna and North Korea. Get in, exchange money for a loved one, get out. It had all been a lie, a trap. They had done this before and it hadn't ended well.

“ _I gotta help her. I'd do the same for you,”_ Steve had insisted before he'd left to help her.

Back then, after they'd gotten Steve home, alive, Danny had sworn to himself he'd never let Steve do anything like that for him. Not matter what happened. Nothing could be worth it.

Not even Matt?

What if Wo Fat was behind all this, too? The timing— it was suspicious. Wo Fat had escaped only a few weeks ago, had been laying low after Samantha's kidnapping.

“ _He wanted me to give you a message. He said that you and he need to have a talk.”_

What if this was it? What if Wo Fat was using Reyes, Danny, Matt to get to Steve?

“I can't let you do this,” he simply said, begging Steve to understand that he couldn't be the one dragging him into yet another mess, another torture bunker.

But Steve just shook his head minutely. His eyes hardened, flickered darkly. It was the kind of determination that scared Danny. “You go on your own,” Steve said calmly. “But don't think I won't be waiting for you at the airport in Colombia.”

Danny felt his throat squeeze tightly, his heart pounding. Steve couldn't do this. He had no right.

“Don't think I won't follow you to where Reyes is holding Matt.”

“Steve—“

“You're not going there alone.” It was final, done. Danny's stomach churned.

“You decide how we do this but we're doing this together.”

It was a non-choice and Danny hated Steve for it. Because what was he supposed to do? Try to outrun Steve on his way to Reyes, slowed down by the weight of eighteen and a half million dollars as he was? He had nothing. No contacts, no resources. Just a badge and a gun and both were fucking useless anywhere that wasn't this stupid island.

This was his problem, his mess,  _his brother_ . He was the one who let Matt go all those years ago. It was his mistake. He  _owned_ this — wanted to, anyway. But Steve refused to let him. Stupid, stubborn, control freak idiot that he was.

Not going to Colombia wasn't an option. So there was no point in fighting over this, to make this more difficult that it already was. And there was no time to argue, either. No energy, no emotional capacity for it. So Danny gave up, gave in. Even managed to convince himself that he hated Steve enough for doing this to worry a little less about him.

“All right,” he said, resigned. He couldn't look Steve in the eye right now. “Make your calls or whatever.”

Steve gave a terse nod, hand already reaching for the phone in his pocket. “Pack up the money.” It sounded like an order and just like that, Steve was taking charge of the situation.

Danny just stared at him.

“I'll head home to grab some things. Get ready, I'll be back in an hour.”

And then he just left. He was out the door before Danny could even move, before he could even think, consider what Steve meant by grabbing some  _things_ . Was he talking about his passport? His shaving kit? Or was he talking about machine guns and hand grenades?

What did Steve expect  _him_ to bring? Did he need to pack a bag? How long was a flight to Colombia, anyway? And how did one even transport eighteen and a half million in cash?

Danny suddenly realized how utterly unprepared he was for this. All he'd been thinking about was finding the money, coming up with the missing five and a half million. The rest, he'd always figured, was going to take care of itself. The money had been the hard part, the impossible part. The rest had just been details, afterthoughts.

But now—

Now he was standing in the middle of his own house, knee-deep in money and he didn't know what to do. All he knew was that Steve was going to be back in an hour and he was supposed to be ready by then.

Everything was all of a sudden happening too fast. And yet, it wasn't fast enough. Because Matty was still not safe.

Danny couldn't help but wonder if his little brother had ever been safe in the past three years. Had the five and a half million dollars he took with him kept him safe?

Not safe enough, Danny thought and clenched his hands to fists.

It didn't matter how much money you had, how far or how fast you ran. The mistakes you make just had a way of catching up with you. It was just a matter of time. And Matt's time… it had run out.

Danny dug into his pants pocket for his phone. He'd made mistakes, too. He never should have let Matt go.

He dialed the familiar number, stared at the money all over his dining room as he waited for the call to be answered. He thought back to that Saturday morning, with Grace and Steve. Right here in this room, everything had been perfect.

Maybe, after all this was done, they could do that again — no matter how much he wanted to hate Steve right now.

“ _Hello.”_

Danny swallowed, tore his eyes away from the money. “Hey, Rachel,” he said. He remembered going to her the night Matt had left. How things between them had changed after. For a while, anyway. “Do you have a minute?”

She hesitated. _“Is something wrong?”_ Her voice was quiet, her tone concerned. She'd always been good at reading him. Danny was glad things were amicable between them these days.

“It's— it's Matt. He's in trouble.”

“ _You heard from him?”_ There was just a hint of recrimination in the tone of her voice now, but Danny knew her too well to not pick up on it. He didn't fault her for it. She had always cared about Matt, always made it clear she wanted to know if Danny ever heard from him again, no matter what state their relationship was in.

“Not directly, no,” Danny told her but didn't elaborate. There was no time for explanations. “Listen, Rachel, I gotta go help him, okay. I—“ He paused.

Rachel and him, they'd been here before. Too many times. But these phone calls never seemed to get easier.

He sucked in a breath as deep as his squeezing lungs allowed. “I just wanted you to know. In case something goes wrong.”

She was quiet for a while. Then she sighed.  _“What are you going to tell Grace this time?”_ she asked, resigned. She knew better than to try and talk him out of this. 

“That I have to go away for a few days, for work.” It was the same thing he told her before North Korea and Cambodia and Afghanistan. He hated lying to her but she was just a kid, his baby. And he had to tell her something so she knew he wouldn't call tonight or tomorrow, to ask her to tell him all about her day like he did almost every day.

“ _I'll go get her.”_

“Rachel,” Danny called, before she could put down the phone.

She didn't say anything but he knew she was still listening. “I—“ he started. This was the hardest part. “If I—“

“ _I know,”_ Rachel said, quiet and soft.

Danny exhaled, relieved he didn't need to say it out loud again. That if he didn't come back, he wanted her to make sure that Grace knew how much he loved her, that she didn't forget him.

“ _Be careful,”_ Rachel said and then she was gone, calling for Grace to come to the phone.

When Danny talked to his little girl, he tried to keep his voice light, tried to pretend everything was fine. But she was older now, smarter. She picked up on things she wasn't supposed to know, asked all kind of questions. Where was he going, when would he be back, why so soon after the last time?

Jesus, Afghanistan wasn't even three months ago.

The lies he told her came too easily. Practice made perfect. They still grated like gravel at the back of his throat.

He promised to call as soon as he was back, told her he loved her more than anything.

He stared at the phone after she'd disconnected the call. The screen faded to black. He wished he had time to say goodbye in person. Hug her one more time, kiss the top of her head, see her smile — just in case.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Steve was late.

Danny was kneeling on the floor, stuffing stacks of ten thousand dollar straps into trash bags when he finally walked through the front door without knocking. Steve frowned at the large black plastic bags. Danny shrugged. Each one held a million dollars and he was worried the weight would tear them but they were the only thing he had on hand — aside from his own suitcase, travel bag and Gracie's old tiny pink trolley case. But the eighteen and a half million would never have fit into those.

“Let's put the money in these,” Steve said and dropped a bunch of large canvas bags onto the floor in front of Danny.

“You told me to pack up the money,” Danny said as stared stupidly at the bags. What the hell had he been doing these past fifteen minutes, busy work?

“These will be easier to handle,” Steve said. He pulled out his knife, crouched down next to Danny and started slicing through the thin plastic cables on the bags, cutting off the labels and price tags. “Picked them up on the way,” he added.

Danny let himself drop to sit on the floor. “I'll pay you back for these,” he muttered, waving a hand at the bags.

Steve huffed. “Don't worry about it.”

He sliced the trash bags open next. “I got eight, so let's make it two point four million each and one point seven for the last one.”

Danny just nodded, feeling like he'd counted all this goddamn money one too many times already.

When they were done another ten minutes later, Steve grabbed four of the bags and looked at Danny expectantly. “You ready?” he asked.

Danny nodded and slung his backpack over a shoulder.

He'd packed a change of clothes and, because he was feeling optimistic, a toothbrush. He had four bottles of water and three Snickers bars. It was the closest thing to a protein bar he had laying around. He had his passport even though he doubted that he'd need it, his gun with a couple extra clips, a small first aid kit and the two thousand dollars in cash he kept in the house for emergencies.

His arms trembled when he picked up the four remaining bags and it had nothing to do with their weight.

This was it.

He exhaled a deep breath and took one last look around the house before he followed Steve outside.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


They took Steve's truck and, for once, Danny was actually glad that Steve was driving because he didn't have a clue where they're even going. It wasn't like you could drive by car from Oahu to San Vicente del Caguán, Colombia.

“We're going to Hickam,” Steve announced as he started the truck.

So he could read minds now, too.

“I got us on a flight to the mainland. Called in a few favors and a buddy of mine in San Diego agreed to get us on a plane from there to the base at Palanquero. It's about a seven hundred and fifty kilometer drive from Palanquero to the location Reyes gave you but we should get there within twenty four hours from now.”

Danny blinked as his brain tired to catch up. Twenty four hours. “Good,” he muttered absently, “that's good.” Taking the time difference into account, twenty four hours meant they'd get there by Monday and early enough to meet Reyes' deadline.

“Now listen, Danny,” Steve said, looking over to him and Danny wanted to tell him to keep his eyes on the road. “The American embassy is in Bogotá. It's about seven hundred clicks from the target location, so it's unlikely we'll make it there if things go sideways.”

What?

“There's an American consulate in Baranquilla but that's all the way up on the north coast. Official language in Colombia is Spanish. You speak Spanish?”

What was he even talking about? They got the money, things were not supposed to go sideways.

Danny frowned at Steve who kept staring at him.

Right, Spanish. He shrugged helplessly. “Not much.”

It was apparently not the answer Steve had wanted to hear. He narrowed his eyes at Danny, adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Enough to tell the Colombian authorities that you're an American citizen and that you want to speak to a representative of the American consulate?”

_What?_ What kind of fucked up scenarios were running through that twisted, screwed up head of his?

“Danny?”

“Yes, yes, I'll manage,” he all but yelled, just to shut Steve up and shut down any other worst case scenarios he might come up with. Danny didn't feel like he could process anything like that right now. He just wanted his brother back. They got eight bags full of money in the back of the truck. Wasn't that enough?

“Good,” Steve said. It looked like the answer let him relax just a bit.

Good for him, Danny thought.

“Now,” Steve continued, “I'm still working on an exit strategy, it'll all depend on how this goes down and what shape Matt's in. A contact who's been stationed in the area gave me the address of a private practice close by. They won't ask questions. If Matt can make the drive back to Palanquero, we should be able to get on a flight back to the States.”

Danny just stared ahead at the red taillights of the car in front of them, thinking about the first aid kit he got at the bottom of his backpack and the bandaids and Tylenol in it.

“Grab my pack,” Steve said, not giving him a second to process the thought that maybe Matt would need more than a bandaid when they found him, maybe he'd need more than that private clinic—

“Front pocket, there are two sat-phones,” Steve said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Take one and put it somewhere safe. Speed-dial one is the other phone, number two is the embassy in Bogotá. Three is headquarters and four is Joe. If we get separated, if you need to find your own way home, call him.”

Danny swallowed thickly as he turned to reach for Steve's backpack on the backseat.

Why wasn't eighteen and a half million dollars enough?

He took one of the phones and kept it in his hands, not sure where a safe place for it was. It'd probably be safest with Steve because Super SEAL had thought of  _everything_ , he was the one with the plan, the one on a mission. Danny felt like he and his Snickers bars were just along for the ride, probably more of a liability even.

“Anything else?” he asked, subdued.

Steve gave him a strange, sideways look. “I've been trying to gather intel on Reyes' operation,” he announced. “Based on what I've found, I don't think San Vicente del Caguán is his home base. He obviously won't meet us alone but he'll probably have most of his manpower deployed elsewhere. The plan is to go in, hand over the money, get Matt and get out. But if he goes back on the deal, if he tries to play us, we should be able to stand a fighting chance, even if we have to go in unarmed.”

Danny heard only half of whatever Steve was saying because, what the hell? When had Steve been gathering intel on Reyes? Why hadn't he told Danny? What the fuck was he thinking?

“How long have you been planing this?” Danny asked, his voice loud, his tone accusatory.

“What?” Steve actually had the nerve to feign ignorance.

“This!” Danny yelled, hands spread wide. “This whole mission or operation or whatever you call it in that one-track brain of yours.”

Steve gave him a long look. “Why are you so angry?” he asked calmly and it was a good fucking question but Danny chose to ignore it, because what the hell?

“More importantly,” he continued, “were you planning on consulting me at, like, any point? Or am I supposed to be grateful that I'm even allowed to go with you?”

Steve didn't say anything. But he didn't need to. Danny could see it in the small twitch along the rigid line of his shoulders, in the way he set his jaw.

“What, are you planning on ditching me at the airport? Are you gonna lock me in the car like a dog? Don't worry, I got water, I got a couple Snickers bars. Just crack a window for me and I'm gonna be good until someone finds me.”

“I said we're doing this together.”

It sure as hell didn't sound like that was how Steve wanted to do this. And who the hell was he anyway to decide anything about how any of this got done?

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for allowing me to _help_ save my idiot brother from the gigantic pile of steaming crap he's gotten himself into, all because I let him.”

“This is not your fault, Danny.” Steve was so calm, it was infuriating.

“Yes, it is,” Danny yelled. And when would Steve finally accept that? When would he get it through his thick skull that as a cop, as a brother, Danny never should have let Matt get on that plane? He'd made a mistake. Danny could see that so why couldn't Steve?

“Danny—“

“But it isn't yours,” Danny cut off the objection. “But that doesn't matter to you, right? Because everything is always your responsibility. It's always your job to fix everything, isn't it?”

Like with Jenna and her fiancé. And with Catherine and the kid in Afghanistan. And every time Steve tried to fix other people's problems, he was the one getting hurt. So why should this work out any differently? Why should this one go off like planned when Steve was already making contingency plans for all kinds of things going _wrong_.

“But you can't. You can't fix everything. I don't _want_ you to fix this!”

“You need my help.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Danny yelled. Goddamn asshole control freak. Where the hell did he get off on telling Danny that he couldn't even save his own brother? If he couldn't do that, how could he expect to keep _anyone_ safe?

“You needed Chin's help to get the money and you need my help to get it to Reyes on time. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, there is.” _Everything_ was wrong with that. “Chin owes that scumbag and it's gonna cost him somewhere down the line.” And what Steve was doing… Danny couldn't help but think ( _know,_ deep down) that it would cost him, too. Because he kept doing this, kept trying to help everyone and it kept costing him. And Danny, he just didn't know how to stop it, how to keep him safe, even though every fiber of his being was telling him to try. But he couldn't and that fucking terrified him. 

“We'll take care of it. We'll figure something out,” Steve said.

And that right there, that  _we_ , it made Danny want to scream and yell and cry because it didn't even matter if, by some miracle, they got out of this unscathed. There was always the next thing, always something else that Steve would make his job, his mission to fix. And all Danny could do was hope and maybe pray and afterwards, he could try his best to put Humpty Dumpty back together again and… he was just so tired of it all, of feeling so utterly helpless.

Shaking his head, Danny exhaled slowly. All the fight left him and he sagged against the backrest, tired, spent, exhausted. “You just don't get it,” he said quietly.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“ _Okay, Danny, tell 'em— tell 'em about the time at the zoo.”_

“ _Again with the— every time with the zoo! Okay, you— He was causing a disturbance.”_

“ _You handcuffed me to the monkey cages.”_

“ _I— I was doing my job.”_

“ _Dude, you were nine! What are you talking about?”_

“ _They were plastic handcuffs, just so you know.”_

“ _My parents would say, you know, 'Where's your brother?' Danny would say, um, 'Guess we lost him.'”_

“ _Well, I always would come back for you. Didn't I?”_

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“Danny?”

_I would always come back for you._

“Danny!”

_Didn't I?_

“Danny.”

The hand settling on his shoulder startled him. He blinked his eyes, gaze dropping to the revolver in his hand. He couldn't remember where he got it from. His hand was shaking, shaking. But he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything. Nothing, except for the gentle pressure on his shoulder, firm, strong, anchoring.

“Danny, we've gotta get out of here.”

Another hand curled around his, around his tenuous hold on the revolver. It carefully, slowly pried the weapon loose, took it away. His own hand remained by his side, still twitching, still numb.

_Where's your brother?_

_Guess we lost him._

His eyes flickered to the rusty brown 55-gallon drum. His vision tunneled, narrowed itself down to the battered old thing. And it made no sense, that his brother, that Matty was supposed to be in there. That's he was… dead, that his body had been—

“Danny.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. And then it pulled, tried to tear him, his eyes away from his brother's steel coffin. But Danny refused to look away, couldn't look away. But the hand insisted, pulled stronger, squeezed tighter.

“Danny.”

And suddenly, the drum was gone and all he saw was bright blue and he couldn't lose his brother, couldn't lose Matt.

_I would always come back for you._

He pushed and shoved, hit and punched, clawed at the bright blue that stole his brother from him, again, took away what little was left…

_Guess we lost him._

Danny was not losing him again. Not again. Not—

He shoved again, hard, and then the bright blue was gone, stumbling, falling, crashing into the drum with a loud clunk that thrummed, reverberated through Danny's whole body, deep down into his bones.

Startled, frozen, Danny stared, sucked in a deep breath that felt like the first in a very long time. His lungs squeezed tight as air ballooned inside his chest and it felt like there was a valve lodged in the back of his throat that let air in but not back out. His breath hitched, hitched again and again as he kept sucking in small, tiny huffs.

“Danny, hey!”

His vision swam, eyes losing their focus and the bright blue was back. Something warm, firm curled around the back of his neck, cupped his jaw. He blinked, blinked again and suddenly he _saw_ Steve, right in front of him.

He gasped out a broken sound and it felt like something inside him _broke_ as the air finally rushed out of his burning lungs. It hurt, tore and tried to rip him apart, cell by cell, atom by atom, everything that he _was_. He choked, sobbed as strong arms wrapped around him, holding him tight against solid bright blue.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains dialogue from various episodes.
> 
> Small deviations from canon (I’ll explain in the notes down below :))
> 
> Warnings: spoilers for 5.18

##  **Someday**

Chapter 11

  


Danny didn't know for how long he cried, how long Steve held him before he started thinking that maybe all of this was a lie, a trick. Before he started pushing Steve away again because it couldn't be Matt in there.

“ _Hurricane Matty strikes again.”_

You can't fit a hurricane into a 55-gallon drum. You just can't, there was no way.

Strong hands curled around his arms, steadied him, held him back as he stumbled toward the drum. Steve told him “no, don't, let me,” and led him to the stairs. He didn't want Danny to see what was in there, didn't understand that it couldn't be Matt.

But that was all right, it was fine.

Steve would see.

Matty was still out there somewhere, had to be. Because there was no way…

Steve opened the lever at the top of the drum, pried the lid loose.

All Danny saw was the expression on his face.

The lid dropped, banged into the concrete floor, spun, spun, spun, around and around as Steve tried to hold Danny back, to stop him from seeing what was inside. Hands bracketed his shoulders, hard, pushed him back, but it was too late, Danny had seen— He'd already seen… what was left.

  
  


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Danny helped carry the drum up the stairs. Determination to get his brother out of this rotten place kept his rubbery legs and shaky arms from buckling under the burden. He'd carry him all the way to New Jersey if he had to, he'd carry him all the way home where he belonged.

It was all he could do for his baby brother now.

It was too little too late.

“ _Do you wanna take him with you or would you prefer that we ship him?”_

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not even Steve had planned for _this_.

What happened now?

Danny sat waiting in the cab of the old Ford pick-up, staring at the burning orange sky while Steve tied the precious cargo to the truck's bed and then went back inside the house to retrieve the money.

  
  


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Somewhere between San Vicente del Caguán and Palanquero, Steve stopped the truck.

“St. Josef's casa de los niños. It's an orphanage,” he told Danny. “I'm sure they could use the money.”

Danny nodded. Steve got out of the truck and dumped bags with thirteen million dollars on their doorstep.

They were taking the rest back home with them, so Chin could repay his debt to Gabriel.

At least there was that.

  
  


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Steve kept urging Danny to drink and eat. They stopped for coffee and sandwiches long after the sun had set. Danny accepted the coffee but ignored the sandwich. His stomach was still sore from when he had vomited for minutes back in the basement. He eventually tried to eat one of his Snickers bars instead, but the sticky, gooey mass felt and tasted like Play Doh in his mouth. He tossed the bar onto the dashboard after the second bite.

They didn't talk much. Steve told him to at least get some rest. But the rattling of the drum and Marco Reyes' face kept Danny awake.

At dawn, Steve parked the truck somewhere near the gates to the base in Palanquero. He disappeared for a while after telling Danny to sit tight.

Danny sat there alone for a long time. At some point, he reached up to angle the rearview mirror his way and just stared at the drum holding his brother's body, wondering how he could have let this happen.

They got on a plane some time later. Another military cargo plane. A large, empty space with no one and nothing inside. Except for him and Steve. The space where Matt was supposed to sit was occupied by the rusty old battered standard 55-gallon drum and five and a half million dollars.

It was almost funny. Like they had only paid two thirds of the price Reyes had demanded and therefore only got two thirds of his brother back.

Really though, it wasn't funny at all.

 

» » » » »

  
  


Countless hours and two different planes later, they finally landed on Oahu.

Danny stood in the middle of the military plane's cargo hold and watched as two Airmen lifted the drum onto a trolly. Steve stood right behind him, carrying the bags.

“Be careful with that, okay,” he told the Airmen.

“'Course, sir,” one of them replied and gave a curt nod. Danny could see the questions in the guy's eyes, the apprehension. They had no idea what was inside the drum. The thing looked like it had been buried in some nuclear bunker for the past fifty years. The poor guy probably thought he was unloading unstable radioactive waste or something highly toxic.

_No_ , Danny thought, _don't worry, it's just my brother._

They rolled the drum off the plane with exaggerated care. Steve stopped them on the tarmac. “Thank you, Airmen. We got it from here,” he told them. Danny didn't know what they were going to do with the thing (Matt) in the middle of an airfield, but he wasn't going to question Steve. He hadn't since they'd left the island. Steve was the one with the plan, after all.

Even though he hadn't planned for this… Or had he?

It didn't really matter. Danny trusted Steve would have all the answers. What to do next, where to go and what to tell the police and the FBI. Steve would have the answers for them, too.

Then Danny thought about Grace, Rachel, his parents and sisters… and he figured that maybe he'd have to come up with some of the answers himself after all.

He only had sisters now. His only brother was _dead_.

The realization was so incomprehensible, it left him reeling, right there, in the middle of the tarmac.

The Airman's tight, “Yes, sir,” made him blink his eyes, snapped him out of the thought. His breathing had sped up, his heart was beating furiously inside his chest.

Only sisters.

He felt dazed, his hands were shaking again.

Next to him, Steve jerked his head toward the plane's cockpit. “Tell Captain Regehr I appreciate all he's done and that the loco moco's on me the next time he's on the island.”

“Will do, sir.” The Airman forced a smile and he and his buddy headed back to the plane.

And then Danny and Steve were just standing there, in the middle of an airfield, with a drum (his only brother) and bags full of money. It seemed so bizarre that Danny felt a hysterical bout of laughter bubble inside his chest. He wanted to ask Steve what happened now (because, for now, Steve had all the answers), if he was supposed to topple the drum on its side and roll the thing with his (only) brother inside to Steve's truck. But before he could say anything, that very truck, followed by a familiar black SUV, came heading towards them across the airfield.

It was Chin, Kono and Lou. Danny figured they already knew what had happened, Steve must have called them. He was glad he wouldn't have to tell them himself, wasn't sure he'd be able to force out the words, actually say out loud that his brother, that Matty was dead. That he'd let this happen.

The thought squeezed Danny's throat again, made him swallow against the forming lump. He didn't want to start crying again, not right here, not right now. He was _afraid_ to. Not because his friends were watching. But because he felt like there was nothing left inside him, no tears, no grief, just a numbness that swallowed up everything else.

And yet, at the same time, there was a pain so utter, so raw, so profound, he didn't feel like he'd ever be able to stop crying once he started.

There was only one bright blue place where he felt safe enough to give in, where he knew he was being held together as the pain tried to rip him apart.

Lou was closest to them as he exited the driver's side of Steve's truck. As he walked the short distance toward them, he exchanged a look with Steve, like he was looking for confirmation on something he already knew. At Steve's nod, his gaze shifted and landed on the drum. Danny could see his throat ripple as he swallowed before dark, sympathetic eyes found him. Lou shook his head minutely. “I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice tight, almost hoarse. Then he wrapped gigantic arms around Danny.

Danny stiffened, didn't know what to say or if he could say anything at all. His mouth felt too dry, his throat too tight. Lou, or anyone, shouldn't feel sorry for him. He didn't deserve their sympathies. He was the one who'd let this happen, he was the one who did this, to Matt, to their family.

He just stood there and waited for him to let go.

When he did, Chin was standing right there next to Lou. He, too, engulfed Danny into what was meant to be a comforting hug. Instead, it just felt suffocating. Chin whispered Hawaiian words into his ear. “Palapala hoʻālohaloha.“ Danny knew those words, and their meaning. As a cop in Hawaii, it was one of the phrases that you picked up sooner or later. _My heartfelt condolences._ More of the same. Unwarranted, undeserved. 

Kono just looked at him for a long moment but Danny couldn't bear to meet her eyes for more than a few seconds. It felt like she saw right through him, saw the guilt, the regret. He stared off somewhere over her shoulder instead. He still caught her shaking her head at him. The next thing he knew, she had her arms wrapped around his neck, hugged him fiercely, too tight but not tight enough.

The embrace was unbearably long and over far too soon.

He couldn't stand the way they all looked at him.

Danny cleared his throat, tried to find his voice. He looked at Chin. “We— we got the money, you can take it back to Gabriel,” he told him and waved a hand at the bags at Steve's feet. He shrugged up a shoulder and for some reason, a quiet, sarcastic snort burst from his chest. “Reyes decided not to keep it after all.”

Chin frowned at him. He looked little taken aback. “I'd rather you brought back your brother,” he said darkly.

Danny laughed. It surprised him, sounded wrong, grotesque to his own ears but he didn't try to stop it. “We did,” he said, felt the lingering, vague smile on his lips. He reached out to the drum and tapped a finger against the lid. “Just not—“

“Danny.” Steve's voice was soft but insistent.

He froze, stilled, except for his hand that had started shaking again where it rested on top of the drum.

He could tell the palm that settled on his shoulder belonged to Steve.

“Come on, I'll drive you home.”

  
  


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They left Chin, Kono, Lou and the money on the tarmac, only took the drum with them.

Steve had a plan what to do next, Danny was sure.

They carried it into the house, into Danny's living room. Coming home like this felt strange, wrong. Danny wasn't sure what he'd expected, he just knew it wasn't this.

He took a shower while the drum sat there, in the middle of his house.

Meanwhile, Steve called the FBI. Two agents showed up half an hour later. Danny let Steve do the talking. He told them Danny had found the drum on his doorstep that morning. They didn't exactly look convinced but what choice did they have but to believe him?

A coroner came to pick up the drum. As soon as he'd release the body, Danny would be able to make arrangements to have Matt's body taken back home to New Jersey.

As the agents left, they told Danny to expect a phone call once the autopsy was done, that they'd probably have more questions. Danny knew the drill.

He closed the door behind them and then the agents were gone and so was Matt. He was alone with Steve.

They just stood there, at opposite ends of the living room. It was the first time Danny really looked at him since they had gone into that basement. Steve looked tired, exhausted, but it wasn't really surprising after the forty-eight hours they'd just had. After everything he'd done for Danny when Danny didn't even want him to come with him to Colombia.

If Danny had gone alone, he'd probably never made it off the island. He'd probably still live in a world where he believed Matt was alive, where the mistake he'd made three years ago was still fixable.

But as much as he wanted to live in that world, he knew he couldn't.

He cleared his throat. “You— you look really tired, you should go get some rest.” He averted his gaze to the floor when Steve looked at him the same way Chin, Kono and Lou had.

“You should, too,” Steve said.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I will.” He nodded again and ran a hand over his face. “I think I'll call my parents first, though. They— they should hear it from me. I mean, the FBI will probably call them soon, so—“

“Sure.” Steve hesitated, sighed. “What are you going to tell Grace?”

Danny bit his lip and swallowed as his throat, his chest tightened. How was he supposed to tell his little girl that her uncle was never coming back to visit her again, to take her to swim with dolphins. That he was dead.

He shrugged, dragged in a somewhat shaky breath. “I don't know yet,” he said, the steadiness of his voice surprising him. “I'll go over to Rachel's tonight, I'll figure something out.”

When Matt had left on that plane all those years ago, he'd told Grace she would probably not see her uncle for a long while, that he had to work abroad.

What lie was he supposed to tell her this time?

“Do you— I mean, I could give you a ride,” Steve offered, brows furrowed in concern.

Danny shook his head. Steve had done enough, had gotten him and Matt home. Danny had relied on him long enough, had accepted more help from him than he ever should have. Steve had given him enough time to come to terms with the fact that Matty was gone. Danny couldn't hide from the truth any longer, had to finish the rest of this journey on his own.

What had happened was his responsibility after all, it was time he started to act like it.

“No, you— you've done enough,” he said and it came out all wrong, self-recrimination and self-loathing coloring the tone his voice. Steve could only misinterpret his words. Because he didn't understand or didn't want to accept Danny's part in all this.

Steve stiffened, something akin to hurt flickered across his face. “Look, Danny, I know you're upset I went to Colombia with you, but—“

“No, that's not—” Danny cut him off, took a step toward him, and another. “That's not it, that's not what I meant.”

He stopped in the middle of the living room, kept his distance. Because all he wanted, all he really wanted right now was for Steve to wrap his arms around him again and hold him like he had back in Colombia. Hold him tight while he cried for his lost brother, hold him together while this _thing_ inside him, this terrible pain tried to destroy him.

But he just couldn't, couldn't rely on Steve like that anymore.

“I just need some time alone.”

Steve just stood there and studied him, like he was trying to figure out whether leaving was the right thing to do, if it was safe.

“Please,” Danny asked, quietly.

Reluctantly, Steve nodded. But still, he stayed right where he stood for another long moment, watching Danny, making sure. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “If you need anything—“

“I know.” Danny forced a smile. The skin on his face felt too tight. He walked back to the door, held it open for Steve.

“I'll let you know when I'll leave for…home,” Danny said and pretended not to notice how that last word got stuck in his throat for a second, how it tasted strange in his mouth. “And when I get back,” he added.

Steve crossed the distance between them. He nodded. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Thanks.”

Again, Steve just stood there, not moving, not _leaving_. Danny really, really needed him to leave though, but Steve was just looking at him, his gaze heavy on Danny's skin. Danny just stared at the carpet, his eyes couldn't meet Steve's.

“I'm really sorry, Danny,” Steve said.

And then, suddenly, he was gone. Danny looked up and stared out the door. Steve didn't look back, just climbed into his truck and drove off. And suddenly, Danny's felt his lungs seize, refusing to take in another breath. Because Matt was dead and he was all alone in his empty house. The buzzing in his ears drowned out the sound of cars passing by, his vision blurred as he lost sight of Steve's truck and Matty was _dead_. Had been dead for god knows how long.

Three years. Danny had had three years and he'd never even tried to find his brother. His baby brother whom, back when they were kids, he handcuffed to the monkey cages to keep from getting into trouble.

He should have handcuffed him that time, too. But that stupid idiot had just gotten on the plane and left and Danny had had let him go and now he was _gone_. And with him the kid Danny had shared a tiny room with for seven years, before they'd finally moved into a bigger house. And the boy he'd taught how to drive in dad's Chevy. The man he'd taken out for his official first drink on his twenty-first birthday. The brother who had been the best man at his wedding. The proud uncle, the godfather who had clumsily cradled Gracie to his chest the day after she'd been born and promised to always take care of her.

How dare he break his promise?

Danny curled his fingers tighter around the door knob, until his hand hurt. Slowly, carefully, he pushed the door shut. Before the lock clicked, he yanked it open again, slammed it shut, as hard as he could. A hoarse, broken sound escaped his throat. The door rattled on its hinges and he tore at it again, slammed it shut over and over and over again, harder and harder, angry, furious, about what Matt had done, what he himself hadn't done.

Choking out a sob, a strangled cry, he stopped.

He let go of the door handle, dropped his hands to his sides and stared blankly at the closed door. He swayed when he turned around to face the empty living room. As he all but collapsed against the door, Danny thought that he fit right in here. Inside, he felt just as empty.

With his back pressed to the door, he slid down until he sat on the floor. Legs sprawled out in front of him, hands resting in his lap, he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to tell his parents that their son was dead.

He remembered that one Christmas morning, many years ago, when his mom had come into his room. Danny had been seventeen at the time and she and him had had this deal that she wouldn't come into his room without knocking. But that morning, she had just snuck in and sat down on the bed next to him. He had still been half asleep and told her to get out, but she'd just sat there and then… then she'd put her hand on his cheek and that had been the moment when he had known that something was wrong.

She had just gotten the call. Danny's grandpa had passed away that night and he had cried and his mom had held him for minutes, said all the right things.

And it was right now, in this precise moment, as he sat in his empty house that he, for the first time, fully realized that it hadn't been just his grandpa who had died that night. It had been his mom's dad, too. She'd lost her dad and it should have been him comforting her. He should have been holding her. 

And right now, he sat here and his mom and dad were over five thousand miles away and all he wanted to do was to hold his mom when he had to tell her that her son was dead now, too. It wasn't just his brother, it was her son and she should be held. But he couldn't be there right now, couldn't do for her what she'd done for him all those years ago.

Danny closed his eyes. God, he really hated this island sometimes.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“Danny?”

Rachel took one look at him and her reproachful expression softened. She tilted her head to the side and opened the door a little wider. “What happened?”

He slowly released a breath. This should be getting easier the second time around, shouldn't it? He'd told his parents, actually said out loud that Matty was dead. It shouldn't be this hard to tell Rachel.

“Can I come in?” he asked instead.

She nodded, stepped aside.

Danny walked past her, looked around the foyer while she closed the door. “Where's Stan?”

Rachel hesitated, frowned at him, like he wasn't making sense. “He's in Las Vegas,” she said with an impatient sigh. “Danny, what's going on?”

He broke eye contact with her, looked down to his hands instead. He'd been fumbling with his car keys ever since he'd rung the door bell. Matt would have loved the black Camaro. He'd always told Danny that silver wasn't the right color for him.

“Danny?” Rachel asked again, concerned.

He looked back up, took in her furrowed brow, her wide eyes. It was like she already knew. It somehow made it easier.

“Matty's dead,” he simply said, ignoring the way his throat ached as he spoke.

She inhaled shakily. When she let the breath go, it looked almost like she was shrinking in on herself. “I'm so sorry, Danny,” she whispered.

He nodded, looked out the window over her shoulder. He was sorry, too.

Rachel moved, took a tentative step toward him. Her arms hung loosely by her sides, her fingers twitching. It felt like there was an invisible wall between them, stopping her from coming closer. So much had happened, so much pain had been inflicted. The wars they'd fought over the years had cause wounds too deep to ever heal completely. They used to love and support each other. And while things were better than when they had been at their worst, they still barely spoke these days, only saw each other when Danny picked up or dropped off Grace.

But they had never stopped caring for each other. Danny realized that when Rachel determinedly pressed her quivering lips to a thin line and closed the distance between them. She pulled him close, held him tight as she let her forehead rest against his temple. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered again.

“Thank you,” he said. The words just tumbled out of his mouth, surprising him. So far, he hadn't felt like he deserved anyone's condolences on the loss of his brother. But it felt different coming from her. She knew him, knew Matt… she knew just how much he loved him, that he hadn't intend for any of this to happen.

It wasn't enough to absolve him of his guilt. But right here and right now, it made breathing just a little bit easier.

Danny closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. He inhaled a deep breath and allowed her to comfort him for just a moment.

When they eventually pulled apart, Rachel ran a gentle hand through his hair, palmed his jaw briefly, finally rested both hands on his chest, over his heart. She stood close. He didn't completely let go of her either, kept a hand curled around her elbow, holding on.

She looked down at her own hands when she asked, “What are we going to tell Grace?”

He sighed heavily. “I can't tell her the truth.”

She glanced up at him. Her beautiful eyes were swimming with unshed tears. “What's the truth?” she asked.

Danny let go of her, she dropped her hands, too. “He took money from the wrong people. They caught up with him.” _I didn't do anything to stop them._

She frowned, tilted her head, looked at him, right through him, with soft dark brown eyes. “It's not your fault,” she said.

Danny squeezed the car keys in his palm, averted his gaze to the floor. He swallowed. “I'll tell her that he's had an accident.”

Hesitantly, Rachel nodded. “She went to bed half an hour ago, she's probably still up.”

Of course, she was. She liked to read in bed.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Rachel asked. She wrapped her arms protectively around herself because she already knew the answer.

Danny shook his head. He knew Rachel wanted to be there for her daughter when he told her, wanted to comfort her, tell her it was all going to be okay. But she understood that he had to do this alone.

“Stay as long as you want,” Rachel said. She reached out to him again, wrapped her cold fingers around his and squeezed. She smiled sadly and then told him to go. “I'll be right here if you need me.”

  
  


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He knocked softly on the door. Dim light from the small lamp on Grace's bedside table filtered out into the hallway. She always kept the door ajar at night.

“Mom?” Grace asked.

Danny pushed the door open, peeked inside. “Hey, Monkey, it's me,” he said and tried to smile at her.

Grace lay curled up in her bed, a thick book resting on the mattress next to her. She was re-reading the Harry Potter series. It looks like she was already done with the fifth one and had started the sixth.

She looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Danno? What are you doing here?” She sat up, the book forgotten.

He closed the door behind him, walked over to the bed.

“Did something happen?” she asked, big questioning eyes tracking his every move.

He sighed, gestured to the bed. “Can I?” he asked.

Grace nodded and pulled back the covers. He sat down on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes before he pulled his leg up and settled against the headboard. “Come here,” he said, and pulled her up against his side, wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she snuggled in.

“What's wrong?” she asked quietly.

He inhaled a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair, leaned down to kiss her forehead. “It's— it's about your uncle Matt,” he said and exhaled shakily. He laid his hand over her arm that rested across his stomach, squeezed it gently, tried to let her know that he was here, that he got her.

Grace was quiet, waited patiently for him to continue.

“He's been doing business in— in Colombia,” he lied. The words almost got stuck in his throat and he wondered if telling her the truth would be any easier.

“That's where I've been these past few days.” He closed his eyes, dropped his head back. “Your uncle Matt, he's been in an accident.”

“Is he okay?” Grace asked, but her tiny voice held no hope. She was a smart kid.

“I'm sorry, baby,” Danny said, pulled her in even closer, rested his head on hers. “He died.”

Her small hand under his arm grabbed at his shirt. She trembled, her breath hitched.

“I'm sorry,” he said again. _I'm sorry I didn't save him for you. I'm sorry I didn't even try when I still could. I'm sorry I waited until it was too late._ “I'm so sorry.”

Tears prickle in his eyes as he held her in his arms. She cried quietly as he whispered apology after apology to her. He told her how much Matt loved her, that he knew how much she loved him and that he'd watch over her from now on.

After a long while, Grace fell asleep in his arms. The sun started rising outside when Danny did, too.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny flew home alone.

Grace had wanted to come with him, be with the rest of the family, be there for the funeral to say goodbye and Danny had hated having to tell her that she couldn't come. But he was too afraid to bring her. Too many people back home knew the truth about Matt, knew about the fraud he'd committed, that he'd been on the run from the FBI, that he'd been murdered and that his body had been cut into pieces.

Danny couldn't risk Grace overhearing something she wasn't supposed to know.

When he landed at Newark Liberty, there was a voice mail message from Steve on his phone. Danny hadn't called him before he'd left Oahu, somehow he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. Instead, he had sent a text, saying he'd be back in about a week.

“ _Hey, Danny, it's me. I— I got your message. Um, I hope you had a safe flight home.”_ There was a pause, followed by a sigh. _“Listen, call me if you need anything, okay? Anytime. We're all thinking about you.”_

  
  


An old buddy from the Newark PD picked him up at the airport and drove him home.

The house was busy, buzzing with people. But it didn't feel the way Danny remembered it. This wasn't the warm and welcoming home he'd once lived in. It felt cold now, empty in a way. Grief was hanging heavily in the air, almost palpable, suffocating. His sister Gwen was on the phone with the funeral home when came in. She kissed his cheek, hugged him tight. Her husband Greg was there, too. They shook hands, he offered his condolences. He was a reserved, quiet guy. Danny was glad he was there for Gwen.

His nephew Eric was at the dining room table with Gwen's two little girls. Eric seemed happy to see him. The girls barely even remembered him. Stella, Eric's mom, was out running errands. She'd be back later.

Mrs. Norell, his parent's neighbor was in the kitchen, cooking. She was about a hundred years old and widowed for as long as Danny had known her. She made the best chilli Danny had ever tasted.

His dad was in the living room, sitting in his favorite armchair, staring out the window into the backyard. He looked older than the last time Danny'd seen him. It had only been a few months since he'd come to Hawaii to surprise mom, to win her back, tell her that he was nothing without her.

He started crying when he saw Danny come in. Danny couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his dad cry.

His mom was upstairs. Gwen told him that she hadn't gotten out of bed since Danny had called over two days ago. He tried to convince her to eat Mrs. Norell's chilli or the at least some of the cookies another family friend had brought over, but she refused. It was like she wasn't even there.

Danny sat with her for hours, held her. But again it felt like too little too late.

  
  


Gwen offered him their guest room to stay in, but he decided to sleep on his parents' couch instead.

The ringing of his phone woke him the next morning. He was disoriented for a moment before he remembered where he was and why he was here. Running a hand over tired eyes, he looked at the caller ID. It was Steve again. Danny tapped the screen to ignore the call and stared at the ceiling. Matt's body was being flown in today.

Yesterday, his dad had kept saying that he wanted to see him one last time, claiming that he could handle it even though he knew what Reyes had done to his body. Danny thought it was a bad idea, but he drove his father to the funeral home anyway.

He listened to Steve's message as he waited for his dad in the hallway. He didn't go in with him, couldn't bear to see Matty like that again. There wouldn't be a viewing, the casket would be closed.

“ _Danny, it's Steve. I— We haven't heard from you. I know you're with your family and you're probably busy but… Let me know how you're holding up, okay? All right… bye.”_

  
  


The funeral was a blur. Danny felt like the tie he was wearing was strangling him.

It took all four of them, dad, Stella, Gwen and Danny, to get their mom to the cemetery. Danny and Gwen support her between them as they led her toward her son's grave. She cried in dad's arms during the service. Danny couldn't take his eyes off her. He wondered if somewhere in Colombia, Marco Reyes' mother was crying at her son's funeral.

During the wake, he sat on the old wooden bench out in the backyard. He couldn't bear all the people expressing their condolences. He listened to another voice mail message Steve had left on his phone earlier.

“ _Hey, Danny, it's me again. Um, I'm just checking on you, man, I just wanna see how you're doing, how you— See how the family's holding up. Look, give me a call if you got a second. I'm thinking about you, buddy. Bye.”_

His dad joined him a little while later, quietly sat down next to him. They didn't talk, just sat there until it got dark and started to rain.

  
  


Three days later, his mom seemed a little better. She was eating again. It made leaving easier. Gwen drove him to the airport. She had tears in her eyes when she hugged him, made him promise to come back soon and bring along Grace. Danny told her he loved her and to take care of mom and dad.

Before he got on the plane, he texted Steve that he was on his way back.

Steve had called him every single day.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to have Danny and Steve return the money Chin borrowed. Maybe I missed something but I can’t remember them giving an explanation as to why they left the whole amount at the orphanage. The Gabriel storyline isn’t important for this story and I couldn’t come up with a good reason for them to not return the money, so… 
> 
> And the timeline is not the same as on the show. I hadn’t realized when I wrote this that Danny was in New Jersey for at least five to six weeks. I decided to keep it the way I had initially written it because it made more sense to me this way, especially since (at least here) Grace didn’t go with him.
> 
> Sorry!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains dialogue from 5.06
> 
> Warnings: mentions of PTSD

##  **Someday**

Chapter 12

  
  


“I think about it like this, three years ago, if I didn't let my brother get on that plane, right now he'd sit in jail, not in the ground, right?”

“What are you doing? Don't do that, man. Don't do that.”

“It's the truth. I mean—”

“Don't do that.”

“—it's the truth.”

“What, are you gonna second guess every decision you made? I did that with my old man, Danny. I did that with Freddy, too. The truth is, I never could have saved either of them. Don't do that to yourself.”

Danny looked back up, stared at that point in the distance again where the sky met the ocean. “Three years, Steve,” he said, scraping his fingernails over the solid stone underneath his hands. “He'd been out there for three years and I didn't do anything.”

There had been no time to save Freddy; Steve had been thousands of miles away when Hesse had killed his father. Turning to look at Steve, Danny shook his head. “It's not the same.”

Steve's mouth twisted in stubborn disagreement. “What could you have done?” he asked. “The FBI couldn't find him, what makes you think you could have?”

“Reyes found him,” Danny reminded him and shrugged, sure that if he had tried harder, hard enough, he could have found Matt first, could have done something to help him, clean up his mess, save him. “I— I just didn't do anything. I didn't even try.”

And wasn't that the worst part of it all, the fact that he'd just sat around and not even tried to find his brother in all those years?

“Matt didn't want to be found,” Steve insisted. “It was his choice to run.”

“It shouldn't have been his choice,” Danny argued. “I shouldn't have let him make it his choice. I should have—“

“What, Danny?” Steve cut him off, raising his voice slightly. “Were you gonna shoot him? Because from what you've told me, that would have been the only way to stop him from running.”

Danny gave another shrug. “Yeah, well, maybe I should have.” He wouldn't have aimed to kill… but if he had, at least people would understand that his brother's death was on him.

“You don't mean that.” Steve looked away, down to study his hands.

He paused, sighed. His gaze slid over his shoulder out to the ocean. “Look, Danny, I know what it's like to be an older brother. And the thing with younger siblings is just that— You get so used to looking out for them and being responsible for them, you don't realize that they grow up. It just happens. And one day, you just have to acknowledge and accept the fact that you don't  _let_ them do anything anymore. It's not up to you anymore. They make their own choices and mistakes. And, I guess, if you're lucky, they let you in, let you help. But if they don't, then that's their decision and sometimes all you can do is accept it.”

Danny could only stare at him.

Steve looked back to him then, intense pale blue eyes meeting Danny's. “You did all you could. You didn't know he took money from Reyes, you didn't know he'd come after him. Three years ago, you gave Matt the opportunity to do the right thing, to stay and face the consequences for what he'd done. But he chose not to and I know that hurts, I know that makes you angry. But he wasn't a kid anymore, Danny. It wasn't your job to protect him from this. Not after he made the decision to leave. So… don't take all that anger out on yourself. What happened… Matt's death, it's not your fault.”

Danny swallowed. Steve sounded so sure of himself, so sure that he'd really done all he could. And in a way, it made sense. Danny hadn't known about the money, had never considered the possibility that Matt was stupid enough to steal millions of dollars from someone like Reyes.

Stupid, stupid Matty. Maybe he really had grown up, had outgrown his big brother's protection — handcuffing him to the monkey cages to keep him out of trouble. Maybe there really had been nothing Danny could have done to protect him this time.

“Do you really believe all that?” he asked.

“I do,” Steve answered firmly, honestly. “It wasn't your fault.”

Danny released a shaky breath. And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe it, too. That Matt's death was not his fault. That maybe, three years ago, he'd failed as a cop, but not as a brother. That Matt had made a choice that day and every single day after that. To leave, to not come back, to not face the consequences for what he'd done.

It felt like a burden being lifted off his shoulders, a strange sense of relief washing over him. But it was followed by something else. A realization of what he already knew but what hadn't really sunken in yet. Not really, not fully. Not until now.

He stared at Steve, eyes losing their focus. “My brother is dead,” Danny said softly, his voice just above a whisper, cracking on the last word. Paralyzing pain once again bloomed inside his chest, but it felt different from before. It wasn't threatening to tear him apart this time. Instead it grew, ballooned, swallowed him whole.

But Steve was right there, closer than just a minute ago. With a hand curled around Danny's neck, he pulled him in and wrapped the other arm around his back. Warm, solid, strong. Steve held him as Danny cried. This time, though, Danny only cried for Matt, for the brother he'd lost. Not for his own guilt, his own mistakes.

Steve didn't let go, not until Danny grew quiet, until his breath stopped hitching and he started shifting in his arms. Steve kept a firm hand on his back as Danny lifted his head off his chest, leaving dark wet spots on Steve's polo shirt. Danny sat up to face the ocean again, wiped with the back of his hand at the wetness on his cheeks. Steve slowly ran the hand up to the crook between his should and neck, settled it there, squeezed gently.

“You'll be all right,” he promised and Danny thought that maybe, one day, he might be.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. The words felt empty, insufficient considering everything Steve had done for him. So Danny turned to look at him, found Steve studying him intently once again. “I mean it, Steve,” he said as he stared into his eyes, trying to convey how grateful he was. “Thank you.”

Steve smiled, small and soft. He squeezed Danny's shoulder again. “Come on, you should go see Grace, let her know you're back.”

Danny nodded. He'd been missing her like crazy this past week. “Yeah, you're right. I'm sure Rachel won't—“ He was cut off by the ringing of Steve's cell.

Steve removed his hand from his shoulder as he pulled out his phone from his pants pocket. Danny sagged just a tiny little bit at the loss of the comforting, warm touch, the support. Steve didn't notice as he checked the caller ID. He sent an apologetic look to Danny before he answered the call. “Duke, what's up?” he asked tersely.

Danny sighed. “Or maybe not,” he muttered to himself.

He watched as Steve listened to Duke. His concerned frown darkened, promising bad news. “I'll be right there. Thanks Duke, I appreciate the call,” he said and then hung up.

“What's wrong?” Danny asked.

“Jerry's at HPD, something's happened.” He stared down at the phone in his hand. “They found him wandering around, disoriented, dehydrated. Says he'll only talk to us.”

That didn't sound good. Danny inhaled a steadying breath. “Well,” he said, jerking his head to the cars. “Let's go.”

Steve looked up but didn't move. He pursed his lips at Danny unhappily. “I can handle this. You should—“

“I'm fine,” Danny told him. It was an exaggeration, but he _was_ better, maybe even somewhere close to almost okay. And for now, it was enough.

“You're not fine,” Steve argued.

Danny shrugged. “Okay, I'm not,” he admitted. “But this is Jerry. And it sounds like he's in some kind of trouble and I'm not— I'm not just going to sit around and do nothing because I'm  _sad_ .”

He turned, lifted his legs over the small wall they were sitting on and stood up. “So are you coming, or what?”

Reluctantly, Steve nodded, giving in.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“Danny?”

The quiet voice startled him awake. Raising his chin off his chest, Danny blinked his eyes open but only found a glaringly bright computer screen staring back at him. He gave his head a shake to clear it and then remembered that he was back in Hawaii, sitting at his desk in the office. Jerry, Farrow, the raid. It was all coming back to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny noticed a shadow shifting by the door. He looked up and found Steve standing on the threshold to the dimly lit bullpen, watching him.

“Hey,” Danny mumbled sleepily and rubbed at his gummy, prickly eyes.

“You fall asleep?” Steve asked and bumped a shoulder into the door frame, leaning against it, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Danny squinted at him. “I guess,” he said and gave half a shrug. He couldn't believe it was only last night that his sister had dropped him off at the airport in Newark. It felt like a lifetime ago. He sighed. “You know what they say, 's called a red-eye for a reason.”

Raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement, Steve nodded. “Well, you should head home. Reports can wait until tomorrow. Jerry already left and I'm just waiting for prisoner transport to take Farrow to lock-up, so…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Danny glanced back at his computer screen. The report he'd intended to write was still just a blank form. He hadn't written a single word before he'd dosed off and probably wouldn't before he got a good night's sleep. He blew out a breath because even then… He felt like there was a weariness that'd settled deep into his bones somewhere between Colombia and the east coast, a fatigue that no amount of sleep would be able to cure.

But after spending the last night in a cramped seat on an airplane and the nights before that on his parents' lumpy old couch, sleeping in his own bed still sounded like a fantastic idea.

He nodded, reached up to clap the laptop shut. “You're right,” he agreed with a tired smile.

Steve just nodded but didn't move to leave, he just stood there, studying Danny again. And it was only now, with the bright light of the computer no longer obscuring his vision, that Danny saw what had probably been there ever since Steve had woken him up. Maybe it had been there longer than that. A strange, concerned look in his partner's eyes. Danny frowned under the scrutiny.

“What?” he asked impatiently. He had an idea what that look might be all about. But he was certainly not going to address the issue. He was too tired to even think about it, let alone come up with an explanation that would be enough to make that look on Steve's face disappear.

Steve sighed, tilting his head to the side. “Are you okay, Danny?” he asked, the tone of his voice matching the expression on his face.

Rolling his eyes, Danny heaved a slightly exasperated sigh of his own. “Look, as far as first days back are concerned, this was a little intense, I'll give you that,” he deflected. “You know, especially with the chopper and the boat.” He made up and down gestures with his hand to illustrate propelling down from one to the other. “I hate flying, I hate the ocean, so that was basically my own worst nightmare right there. But, you know, that's what we call Tuesday around here, right.”

His attempted smile turned into a scowl when the smile Steve offered in return looked clearly forced and uneasy.

“What?” Danny asked again, deciding that dancing around the issue was going to be more exhausting than addressing it. But still, if Steve wanted to talk about this right now, then he'd have to actually say something.

“About what happened on the boat,” Steve said and Danny almost flinched at the words. He cast his gaze down to the top of his desk in front of him.

“You froze, Danny,” Steve added quietly. The tone of his voice held no accusation, no blame, though. Only open, honest concern.

Still, Danny let the instinct to deflect take a hold of him once again. “I didn't— it was nothing,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“It's okay. I get it.”

Danny couldn't help but wonder if Steve really did get it. Because he'd never seen him just… stop like he had on the boat. Steve'd had more than his fair share of traumatic experiences, but they never seemed to get to him like they had gotten to Danny today. Not in the middle of a case, anyway.

On the boat, after the firefight, when the acute danger had been eliminated, when Danny's brain had been able to focus on his surroundings and he had actually  _seen_ the drums — for just a moment, he had been back in the basement in Colombia. For a moment, it had been Matt inside all of those drums.

Danny had no idea how long he'd been standing there, staring. All he remembered was the moment when Steve's voice, calling his name over and over, had finally filtered through and snapped him out of the memory. His hands had been shaking.

Danny looked back up to find Steve still watching him. “I guess I won't be able to look at a drum and not think about him for a while,” he said. Maybe not ever again.

Steve blew out a sharp breath. “Yeah, me neither,” he said and then cocked his head to the side again. “You all right?”

Not sure how to answer that, Danny just shrugged. “Ask me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Steve promised. He sighed after a beat. “Probably not how you pictured your first day back. You haven't even been home to unpack.”

Danny shrugged. “To be honest, it felt good to focus on something else for a while.”

“Never a dull moment around here,” Steve said with a small but cocky smile, like he was proud of the mayhem that was their daily routine.

“With you, never.” Danny huffed out a laugh.

Steve's smile turned into a wide grin before his expression softened. “Did you at least get a chance to call Grace?”

“Yeah, yeah, I actually did,” Danny said and suddenly that word _endearing_ wormed its way back into his brain. Because it was endearing, the way Steve kept checking in on her — on them, really. How he tried to make sure that Danny didn't forget about Grace in the middle of everything that was going on. Not that he ever would, and he didn't think Steve actually expected him to. He was just being… protective of them. And that… that was very endearing, indeed.

“Rachel, um—“ he hurried to add, hoping he hadn't just smiled too long and too goofily at Steve. “Rachel actually agreed to let her stay with me this weekend and the next. It's her way of showing support, being nice… whatever.”

“That's great,” Steve said with a bright smile. And maybe it was just Danny's imagination but there seemed to be something in Steve's eyes that almost looked like— Something that Danny couldn't quite name, but felt like he knew what to do about it all the same.

“Hey, hold up,” he called after Steve as he turned to leave.

He stopped, looked at Danny expectantly with raised eyebrows.

“You know, I was— I was thinking.” He waved a hand through the air and leaned back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant despite the sudden nervous flutter in his stomach. “Grace keeps reminding me that you promised her to do breakfast again sometime and… If you don't have any plans, I was thinking that maybe we could do it this weekend.”

Danny forced a wide smile to cover up the fact that the nervous flutter had apparently made his heart decide to pick up the pace for no particular reason. After all, it wasn't like he was asking Steve out on a date or anything.

Steve hesitated, looked strangely unsure and it did nothing to lower Danny's heart rate. “Are you sure you don't want to spend time with her alone?” he asked. “I don't want to take away from your time with her. Especially not after what's happened.”

“I'll have plenty of time with her alone,” Danny quickly assured him. He sighed. Breakfast with Steve might actually be something Grace needed right now. “And besides,” he added, “after losing her— her uncle, I figure it might be a good thing to show her that there are more people around who love her.”

Steve's eyes actually grew wide at that, he opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Danny couldn't tell whether that was good sign or not.

He spread his hands wide in question. “So…?”

Slowly, very slowly, Steve nodded. “Okay, I guess— I mean… Yeah, sure. Breakfast sounds… sounds good,” he stammered and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. It all kind of freaked Danny out a little.

Had he said something wrong? Had he said the date thing out loud?

Steve turned to leave again but then stopped and took a step back into Danny's office. “So, um, Saturday, around nine?” he asked. Danny couldn't help but frown at him. It wasn't like they were  _not_ going to see each other before then… considering that it was Wednesday and all. Plenty of time to work out the details.

“Yup, sounds good,” he answered distractedly, still trying to make sense of Steve's odd behavior. But he couldn't even come up with the proper word to describe it, let alone a reason for it. It was all very confusing. And the nervous (now kind of more excited) flutter in his stomach wasn't helping either.

“I, um,” Steve said and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta go check on Farrow.”

And then he was gone and Danny just sat there for a moment and stared out the door.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“I have been watching you from afar.”

Kono unceremoniously plopped down on the edge of his desk and pursed her lips at him. “And I gotta say, it's a somewhat depressing picture.” She tilted her head to the side. Peering down over her nose, she carefully studied him for a moment. “You doing okay?” she asked, her voice softer, serious.

Danny leaned back in his chair, giving up the pretense that he was going to get any more work done today. “I'm fine,” he said. People kept asking him that and he kept giving the same answer. Kono didn't need to narrow her eyes at him for Danny to know that she was one of those who didn't buy it. “Getting there, anyway,” he amended at her non-verbal insistence.

Her concerned expression softened into a sympathetic smile. “You know we're all here for you, right?”

Nodding, Danny returned her smile and reached out a hand to squeeze her knee in confirmation. He hadn't really talked to Chin or Kono about what had happened with Matt. But he knew he could come to either of them anytime. And that alone already helped a lot.

“Good,” she decided. She broke eye contact and averted her gaze down to the desk, craning her neck, clearly searching for something. “So, what's up with all the scowling and frowning at your phone?” she asked curiously.

“You really have been watching me,” Danny observed and held up his cell, wiggling it in front of her face. He had been holding it in his hand the whole time. Wordlessly, he pulled up the photo Steve had sent him earlier and showed it to her.

“Is that… Eric Dickerson?” Kono asked incredulously, gaping at the picture. “Where the hell did he meet Eric Dickerson?”

Still miffed that he didn't get to meet Eric freaking Dickerson himself, Danny scowled at the phone again. “Apparently, he ran into him down at the bait shop.”

“Steve left early to go to the bait shop?” Kono quirked up an eyebrow at Danny. “What, is he planning a fishing trip or something?”

“No, no not a trip,” Danny said, shaking his head. He'd sent Steve a text with the exact same question earlier. “That prosecutor, Ellie Clayton. She's coming over to his place. To fish.”

Kono's eyes widened a little. “Ohhh,” she drawled and Danny didn't like what she was insinuating with that particular sound. Admittedly, he maybe was a bit jealous of Steve meeting one of his idols, but it wasn't like he was jealous of Ellie Clayton spending the afternoon at Steve's… sitting by the water… drinking beer… talking until the sun set over the ocean…

It wasn't like that at all. He just found it weird. She was a prosecutor after all. Her kind didn't usually like Five-0, let alone hang out with any of them to fish.

“No, no. There's no ohhh,” Danny told Kono. “It's just that…” He huffed irritably. “I was gone for like a week and… I actually met her, the day I got back and she mentioned something. Something that Steve did for her. And, you know, I've been meaning to ask him about it. I mean, you know Steve, it's not like he would just volunteer any sort of explanation on anything, ever. Or, you know, on this particular thing.”

He knew he was rambling. Kono's frown was very telling. But he just couldn't help himself because none of this was making any sense to him. “But— but I guess it must have been something… something big or… I don't know.” He shrugged, shook his head and blew out a frustrated breath. “And now… now they're fishing… together… at his place.”

Kono just sat there, with a strange expression on her face that Danny couldn't quite place. It was a little disconcerting and only added to his confusion.

“What?” he asked.

She let out a sigh. “Look, I don't know the full story here—”

“But…” Danny interrupted before she could tell him to ask someone else. She was right here and he'd take only half the story if it gave him _some_ answers. “You _do_ know something.”

She rolled her eyes at him but started talking anyway. “They met a few days ago. On the anniversary of Steve's dad's death, actually.”

Danny froze.

September 20. He suddenly remembered, realized that Steve's dad had died four years ago on the same day they had buried Matt.

With everything else going on, he had completely forgotten about Steve's dad.

He should have picked up the phone when Steve had called that day.

Danny swallowed thickly against the lump forming at the back of his throat. There was something else that suddenly made perfect sense.

“ _Three years, elven months, two days,”_ Steve's voice echoed in his head.

He and Steve had met on the day of his father's funeral. That day, Steve had broken into his own house after burying his father and had run into Danny in the garage.

Of course Steve remembered the day. Of course he knew exactly how many years, months and days it had been since then, since they'd met, since he'd said goodbye to his father. He'd taken the oath that day; Five-0 had essentially been born right then. Of course, he remembered.

Danny suddenly felt naïve that he ever believed it had anything to do with him.

“Back in the day, Steve's dad investigated her father's murder,” Kono continued, she didn't seem to notice that Danny had stopped breathing. “She was just a kid when it happened. He never found out who did it but… he kept in touch with her. We re-opened the case.”

“He, um— Steve's dad, he kept in touch with her?” Danny asked, surprised. From what little he knew about Steve's and Mary's relationship with their dad before he'd passed, he didn't get the impression that the man had really kept in touch with his own children. He wondered how that made Steve feel, to find out that his father had gotten close to a teenaged Ellie Clayton; that he'd maintained some kind of a relationship with a girl he'd met on a case after sending his own children away to the mainland.

Kono nodded. “Yeah, but, like I said, I don't know the full story. I guess you could ask Chin about it. He and Steve's dad were partners back then.” She paused and gave him a long look. Raising up an eyebrow, she added, “Or, you know, you could always ask Steve.”

Danny ignored her. He'd been back for three days now, how was this the first time he heard about all this? “Why didn't he tell me?” he asked out loud, though the question wasn't really directed at Kono.

“This case, meeting Ellie, hearing from her about his dad… and on the anniversary of his death… All this can't have been easy on him,” Kono said. “I'm sure he just didn't want you to worry about this. You already had enough to deal with.”

Danny glanced up at her. “We— we buried Matt that day,” he said quietly. “On the anniversary of Steve's dad's death and I didn't even realize it until now.”

“Like I said, you had a lot on your mind,” Kono said with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” Danny agreed and nodded. He still thought he should have remembered the date.

Kono blew out a long breath and slapped her hands down on her thighs. “You wanna get out of here, grab a drink or an early dinner?” she asked.

Danny appreciated the offered distraction but still shook his head. “I'm picking up Grace in an hour and… I still gotta get caught up on that piece of human excrement Johnny Moreau,” he said and waved a hand at the screen of his laptop from where the smug face of the human trafficker stared back at him. They were planning on taking the scumbag down early next week, with the help of an old acquaintance.

“By the way,” Danny asked, “what genius came up with the idea to use Sang Min to set him up?”

Kono snorted out a laugh. “That would be Chin, actually. I think he's had a soft spot for the guy ever since they bonded in prison.”

Danny smiled, too. It was almost funny, the way the guy kept popping up in their lives — in spite of both parties' best efforts. “Did you actually find him in a hole in the ground?”

Kono grinned, bright and dimply. “You should have seen it.”

Danny rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah, well, from what I've read, there was poison ivy and a significant lack of clothing involved, so I think I'm kinda glad I didn't.”

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	13. Chapter 13

##  **Someday**

Chapter 13

  
  


“ _Do you wanna take him with you or would you prefer that we ship him?” Reyes asked nonchalantly, waving a hand at the drum._

_Danny tightened his hold on the revolver in his hand, curled his index finger around the trigger._

“ _Detective?” the man asked, prompted, spreading both hands wide expectantly. He was still awaiting his answer._

_Danny brought up the weapon, leveled it at Reyes' forehead._

_Unfazed, Reyes glanced down at the drum and shrugged. “He should be easy to transport,” he observed evenly, “all cut up like he is.”_

_Blind rage roared inside Danny. He kept his eyes open, didn't flinch as he pulled the trigger._

_Lifeless, Reyes' body dropped to the ground._

“ _Danno?” a small, painfully familiar voice asked from behind him, shattering the deafening silence left behind by the booming gunshot. The gun clattered loudly to the ground as he whirled around. But he couldn't see anyone in the darkness._

“ _Danno, please,” the voice begged, coming from behind him again. Danny turned back to where Reyes stood just a moment ago. And there he was again, right in front of Danny, a perfectly round, dark hole marking his forehead._

“ _Danno, what did you do?” Grace stared up at him, big confused eyes swimming with tears._

_Reyes ran a hand over the top of her hair, clicking his tongue. He tilted his head to one side, a feral grin splitting his face. “I told you, Detective,” he mocked. “Don't come back if you love your family.”_

_The lightbulb above their heads swung then; light reflected off the sharp blade he held pressed against her throat._

“No!” Danny yelled as he jerked awake, heart pounding, blood rushing loudly in his ears.

It wasn't real, Grace was safe in her room.

Uncoordinated and clumsy, he pushed himself up to sit in his bed, his trembling arms almost giving out underneath him. Dropping back against the headboard, he swallowed against the sour, foul taste in his mouth. Acid bile burned at the back of his throat. He inhaled a couple of deep breaths to quell the rising nausea, to slow his racing pulse.

It wasn't real, he reminded himself once again.

Closing his eyes briefly, he slowly exhaled a deep breath.

Most of it wasn't, anyway.

The covers and sheets, his t-shirt and boxers, everything was damp with sweat, clinging to his body, heavy and too hot, smothering. Hastily, Danny struggled his way out of the bed. He switched on the lamp on the bedside table and padded across the room on unsteady, wobbly legs. He open the window wide. The air inside the bedroom was stale and stuffy, the smell of rotting flesh and his own vomit lingered in his nose.

He inhaled a deep breath of fresh air as he stared out into the night. Everything was quiet, the rest of the world still fast asleep.

A gust of warm Hawaiian wind blew inside and made him shiver. He left the window open as he stripped out of sweat-soaked clothes and put on a fresh pair of boxers and a clean t-shirt from the dresser. His skin felt icky, his throat dry. He needed a shower and a glass of water.

He wanted a glass of whiskey, too, to burn away the tastes and smells the nightmare had left him with. But Grace was here (in her bed, alive, safe), so alcohol was not an option. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop once he started.

A glass of juice would have to do.

He headed out into the hallway, stopped at Grace's room on his way to the kitchen. The door was open, just a crack, like always. Carefully, quietly, he pushed it open further. The room was dark, like the rest of the house. Danny could barely make out the Grace-shaped lump on the bed. It had been a while since she'd told him that she was too old for the night light. He missed its soft glow now.

Dropping his head against the frame, Danny stood in the door, holding his own breath as he listened for hers. It was slow and even, peaceful. With a relieved sigh, he pressed his back against the solid wood and slowly slid down until he sat on the floor in the threshold. Comforted by the soft sound of her breathing, quiet, steady proof that she was here, alive and safe, Danny sat there until the first rays of sunshine peeked through the curtains.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Steve had a big grin on his face when Grace opened the door for him. He gave her a one-armed hug, balancing a big brown grocery bag in the other one. They probably should have worked out the logistics of their breakfast plans in more detail — though Danny thought it was implied that the person invited for breakfast wasn't required to _provide_ the breakfast.

At Grace's insistence, Steve let her peek inside the bag. She beamed brightly up at him once she'd studied the contents.

Danny watched the exchange between them fondly from across the room, sipping on his third cup of coffee for the morning. He had never gone back to bed last night, still saw Marco Reyes' face and Grace's accusing eyes every time he closed his own. Throughout the morning, he's grown more and more tired by the hour. The coffee wasn't really helping. He was functioning but felt lethargic and slow, like he wasn't really a hundred percent _here_.

Less than three hours of sleep a night would do that to you, Danny thought. He wanted to be here, though. Enjoy their morning, forget for a little while.

Steve looked the exact opposite of how Danny felt. Relaxed, rested… _good_. He was wearing flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt. Dressed for comfort, as usual, but not in a ready-to-chase-down-a-suspect-on-the-run practical kind of way, like he did for work. Danny liked this version better. Because this Steve looked like he fit right in here, with him and Grace and a lazy Saturday morning breakfast.

“Hey,” Steve said as he finally managed to tear his attention away from Grace. The grin disappeared and his brow furrowed. “You look like crap,” he observed.

Danny scowled at him. “Good morning to you, too,” he muttered into his cup, rolling his eyes.

Steve simply raised his eyebrows at him. Danny read the unasked question loud and clear, though. _Bad night?_

He dismissed Steve's concern with a wave of his hand. “We watched some movies last night and I may have gotten a little carried away with the snacks.”

“We had popcorn and ice cream _and_ sour straws,” Grace chimed in excitedly.

“Sugar rush kept me awake for hours,” Danny added.

He could tell by the way Steve narrowed his eyes at him that he didn't buy it. But he also didn't call Danny on his lie, probably for Grace's benefit and Danny was grateful for that. He didn't want her to worry about him.

“So no syrup for you, then,” Steve said and winked at Grace. She grinned.

The fact that Steve just assumed they were having French toast again made Danny's stomach flip, in a good kind of way, and he hid his own smile behind the coffee cup. He took another quick sip and then scowled at Steve again. “Hey, key ingredient,” he reminded him.

Steve frowned skeptically. “Your pancreas probably disagrees.”

“What's the pancreas?” Grace asked, looking from Danny to Steve.

“It's an organ in your body that produces hormones that regulate blood sugar,” Steve told her. “And the more sugar you eat, the harder your pancreas has to work to keep your blood sugar balanced.”

Danny watched Grace listen intently. He thought he could spend hours watching Steve explain the whole world to her.

Just maybe not when he'd been up for hours without eating anything yet.

He huffed impatiently. “And I happen to have a very active, very productive pancreas so I'll take my toast with syrup.” Danny raised an eyebrow at Steve, daring him to disagree and mess with his breakfast. “Now, I don't know about you two but I'm starving, so maybe we can wrap up the biology lesson and go to the kitchen.” He whirled a finger through the air, beckoning them to get moving.

Steve gave Grace a squinty-eyed look. “Is he always this grumpy before breakfast?”

Grace let out a dramatic sigh. “You should see him before he's had any coffee.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Aside from all the basic French toast ingredients, Steve had also two large papayas in his grocery bag. Insisting that it was Danny's turn to cook, Steve grabbed a cutting board and a knife and started taking the fruit apart.

“I know this is gonna be difficult for you, but don't boss me around in my own kitchen,” Danny warned with a finger raised in his direction.

Steve just flashed him a wide, cocky grin from across the room.

“The toast you made last time was really good, too, Uncle Steve,” Grace said as she carefully lifted a stack of plates from the cupboard.

“Not bad for a first try, huh?” he asked and popped a piece of the slippery orange fruit into his mouth and then shamelessly licked the juices off his fingers.

Danny was so perplexed by that piece of information and the picture ( _there are children present, Steven!_ ) that he accidentally cracked the first egg over the counter next to the bowl.

“That was the first time you made French toast? Ever?” he asked incredulously. The egg white spread out to the edge of the counter and started dripping onto the floor, its gooey consistency slowly dragging the yolk along.

Stupid egg. Stupid Steve.

Steve shrugged. “Never had anyone to make it for,” he said casually, like it was no big deal. Like there wasn't something inherently sad about that simple statement.

For a moment, Danny's breath got stuck in his lungs and all he could do was stare at Steve, hand hovering in mid-air as he reached for a rag to contain the mess on the counter. Then, something wet and cold hit his bare feet and it was almost enough to help him recover from the shock that he and Grace were the first people _ever_ that Steve had made French toast for.

“What about Catherine?” Grace asked, clutching the plates to her chest. “Didn't you make breakfast for her?”

If the question bothered him, Steve didn't let it show. “She likes her eggs scrambled and her toast toasted,” he said with a fond smile. “I made her waffles for her birthday once.”

Grace's eyes went wide. “Oh, I love waffles!”

“You do?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Grace added, less enthusiastic all of a sudden. “Danno doesn't have a waffle iron anymore, though,” she then said and raised a slightly piqued eyebrow at Danny. Like it was his fault that shipping things like waffle irons from New Jersey to an island in the middle of the Pacific ocean cost a fortune.

Steve shrugged. “Well, I guess we'll have to meet at my house the next time, then.” He winked at Grace again and then looked over to Danny, silently asking for permission or approval with a waggle of eyebrows.

Judging by Grace's excited little squeal, it was a little too late for that. There was no way Danny could say 'no' now.

Not that he wanted to, anyway.

He just smiled and shook his head at Steve in mock exasperation.

“Danno, you got egg all over your feet,” Grace pointed out.

Danny squished his toes in the oozy puddle.

Right.

“You're supposed to crack them _into_ the bowl,” Steve said, being unhelpful.

Danny narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh, you make toast once and suddenly you're the expert, huh?”

“If that's how you usually make it,” Steve said with a pointed look at Danny's feet, ”then I vote we go over to my place right now and make waffles instead.”

“No, we won't,” Danny told him. Steve had just promised another breakfast. He wasn't going to get out of that one so easily. “You wanted me to cook, so that's what's gonna happen. And if you don't like the way I do it, then you can… go help Grace set the table.”

Yeah, that'll show him.

Grinning, Steve grabbed the bowl of papaya and marched it out to the dining room.

Danny stared at his feet and sighed. What the hell was he even doing?

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


After breakfast, Grace insisted they all watch cartoons together, like last time, _before_ cleaning up the kitchen. Danny agreed to one episode of whatever was on.

They sat on the couch like last time, too, with Grace wedged between Steve and Danny. The thing that was different this time, though, was that about three minutes into the episode, Steve casually stretched his arm out and laid it along the back of the couch, his hand resting inches from Danny's neck, making the skin there tingle.

Danny dropped his head on top of Grace's to hide the smile that spread on his face. He failed, however, to the hide the content sigh that slipped out as he let his eyes drift shut.

  


It was Steve's voice, exclaiming something along the lines of, “Oh, no, come _on_!” that made Danny snap his eyes back open again.

It was followed by a groan and a whiny, “No, no, no!”

The voice came from suspiciously far away and it was only then that Danny realized he was now lying on the couch instead of sitting on it. In fact, he was curled up on the side and facing the backrest. It explained why all he saw was gray.

“You have to say it, Uncle Steve,” Grace insisted gleefully from somewhere above his head. Judging by the tone of her voice, it wasn't the first time she had to remind him.

Steve inhaled a sharp breath and ground out, “Hit.”

Grace squealed.

After a beat, Steve asked, “H-3?”

“Nope,” Grace announced and Danny could _hear_ the grin on her face. “Hmm, how about…” She paused. There was a tap, tap, tap filling the momentary silence. “A-6.”

They were silent for another moment. Almost long enough for Danny to lift his head and take a peek in the direction of the dining room table to see if they were still there.

“Saaay it,” Grace eventually drawled.

“You sank my battleship.” Steve sounded absolutely heartbroken.

“Ha! I win again,” Grace sing-songed and Danny wondered how long he'd been asleep.

He rolled onto his back and was surprised to find the comforter tangled in his legs.

“You wanna play another round?” Grace asked excitedly.

Steve sighed. “I don't think my ego can take it. Besides, I gotta go back to the office for a few hours.”

“What?”

“Danno, you're up!”

Danny pushed himself up into a sitting position on the couch, fighting the comforter every inch of the way. Eventually, it ended up in a heap on the floor, next to his feet.

“Hey, Cinderella,” Steve said as he followed Grace to the living room area with a wide, stupid grin on his face, “We were just about to rock-paper-scissor over who of us is gonna kiss you awake.”

Danny coughed, spluttered a little as heat rose into his neck and cheeks. That was a scenario he definitely didn't need Steve to draw up for him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to stop picturing himself on the couch and Steve leaning over him to slowly— “I hope you meant Sleeping Beauty, because I don't want you anywhere near my feet.”

Both Steve and Grace peered down at him with puzzled expressions.

Danny spread his hands wide. “Cinderella, the glass slipper, come on! She wasn't the one with the fairies and the kissing.”

Grace exchanged a look with Steve. He lifted his shoulders helplessly. Grace frowned. “But Cinderella didn't sleep,” she told Danny, confused.

“ _I'm_ not the one who brought her up,” Danny said and pointed a finger at Steve. Grace could complain to him. “And besides, I'm pretty sure she slept at some point, too.”

Grace just shook her head and looked at Danny like he'd lost his mind. “I think we should have a Disney movie night sometime soon,” she suggested seriously.

“That sounds like… a great idea,” Steve said and shrugged at Danny's wide-eyed look. “What? I used to love the Little Mermaid.”

Danny snorted out a laugh at that and then he hiccuped and snorted again and maybe he'd starting to hyperventilate. Because, what the hell was happening? What strange twilight zone parallel universe had he woken up in?

Danny was pretty sure he'd just implied that he would have been okay with the kiss and hadn't even realized it at the time (and hopefully, neither had Steve) and now Steve and Grace were making plans to watch movies about Disney princesses and Danny was just sitting here and no one really even asked him and somehow, that was okay. It was perfect.

  


What wasn't perfect, though, was that Steve still insisted his chariot was about to turn back into a pumpkin.

Danny had slept for over four hours; it was three in the afternoon now. Grace and Steve had even cleaned up the kitchen.

“Thanks for keeping her entertained,” Danny said as followed Steve to the front door. He and Grace had already said goodbye. She'd gone to her room to get started on her homework.

“Anytime.” He smiled apologetically and stopped on the threshold. “Sorry for bailing on you guys, but there are some things I need to work out with the prosecutor and the Governor before they let us borrow Sang Min.” He sighed unhappily.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you put him back in prison, you should have the right to get him out whenever you need him,” he said, his tone sarcastic.

Steve scowled.

But hey, speaking of prosecutors… “By the way, how was your date?” he asked offhandedly, burying his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Steve raised his eyebrows and gave him a confused look. “Date?”

“Yeah. Yesterday, Ellie Clayton, _fishing_ ,” Danny prompted. “You catch anything?” he asked and bit his lip. He hadn't necessarily intended the vague but non-too-subtle double entendre. Good job, Williams. Way to make things (more) awkward.

Steve opened his mouth and closed it again. He huffed out a slightly irritated breath. “It wasn't a date,” he insisted. “We just—“ He stopped, took a sharp inhale. “It's a long story, okay.”

Danny nodded. “She knew your dad,” he offered seriously. “Kono told me.”

Steve studied at him with a pinched expression that Danny couldn't quite place.

“We'll talk later?” he asked carefully.

Steve smiled tightly in response. “Enjoy your time with Grace,” he said. Danny took it as a maybe.

  


**to be continued…**  



	14. Chapter 14

##  **Someday**

Chapter 14

  
  


Danny rapped on the door a couple of times, growing impatient. Ringing the bell had gone unanswered, too. He huffed out a breath and glanced over his shoulder, confirming that the truck was indeed parked in front of the house. Unless he had taken the Marquis or was out for a run, Steve had to be home. The fact that the door was locked didn't necessarily mean anything. It had been locked ever since Wo Fat had come back to the island.

Glaring at the closed door, Danny sighed. The sun was just starting to set and it was still warm enough outside to make the cold six-pack tucked under his arm sweat profusely and Danny could feel the condensation starting to soak through his shirt.

He decided to give up on the door and walked around the house. Maybe Steve was out for a swim.

He found him by the water, picking up bits of trash the current must have brought in from Waikiki or some other tourist-infested beach.

“Hey,” Danny called out as he moved across the lawn toward the deck chairs.

Surprised, Steve's head shot up. “Danny? What are you doing here?” There was just a hint of concern in his voice, so Danny held up the six-pack to put Steve's mind at ease, showing him nothing is wrong, nothing had happened. He was just dropping by for a beer. As buddies did occasionally on Sunday evenings.

Reaching the chairs, he set the pack down on the closer one and pulled out a bottle. Steve tossed the soda can he'd picked up onto the small pile of drift-trash he'd collected and accepted the Longboard as Danny held it out to him.

“What's the occasion?” Steve asked.

With a shrug, Danny grabbed a bottle for himself and twisted the cap off. “We missed our four year anniversary.”

Steve huffed out a small laugh. Then he looked down at the bottle in his hand and studied it for a moment with a fond expression. “Guess we did,” he said thoughtfully, nodding slowly.

Danny raised his beer, inhaled a deep breath. “To your dad,” he suggested quietly.

Steve head snapped up at that. He looked at Danny with wide, surprised eyes. Then he blinked a couple of times, his throat rippled as he swallowed. “You remembered?” His voice sounded a little incredulous. Danny wasn't sure if he meant the anniversary of his father's death or the fact that they had met on the day of the funeral. It didn't really matter.

Danny smiled ruefully, wishing he had remembered either. “No,” he confessed, shaking his head slowly. “Kono reminded me the other day.”

Steve just shrugged, raised his bottle, too, before he took a long swallow.

“You got a lot on your mind,” he then offered.

“That seems to be the consensus,” Danny said, Kono's words from two days ago echoing in his mind. He still thought he should have remembered.

Taking a swig of his own beer, he let the cool liquid soothe away some of the dryness in his throat. “Anyway,” he added, “I'm sorry I didn't pick up your call that day.”

Steve's brow furrowed. “I was just worried about you,” he said and Danny hated that it was the truth, that Steve had just wanted to be there for _him_.

“You doing okay?” Steve asked.

Danny inhaled a deep breath. There was something else he hated. People kept asking that question and he was tired of hearing it, of answering it — he didn't really know how to. Breaking eye contact as he exhaled, he stared out to the ocean instead. “I'm all right.”

“You're not sleeping,” Steve simply stated.

He wasn't wrong. Last night had been a little better than the night before. But Danny had still woken up drenched in cold sweat long before dawn. “Some nights are worse than others,” he offered and then averted his gaze back to Steve, found blue eyes studying him with concern and understanding.

Steve _knew_ how it was, knew all about bad nights.

The though made something inside Danny's chest twinge painfully. “It gets better, right?” he asked, hopeful not just for himself.

Steve's expression darkened. He set his jaw, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

Danny shook his head, dropped his gaze to the beer in his hand. He had his answer. “Forget I asked.”

“It might take some time,” Steve said, surprising Danny, “but… eventually, it'll get better.

“There'll be more good nights,” he added after a beat.

Danny looked back up to him again, wondering how many good nights Steve's had since his dad had died, but his expression revealed nothing. “I was hoping the bad nights would stop someday.”

Steve's gaze drifted out to the ocean. He shrugged and took another swig from his beer. “Maybe someday they will.” His voice was an odd, conflicting mix of resignation and hope.

Danny didn't exactly consider himself an optimist, but for Steve's sake he decided to be one today. “To someday,” he said and raised his bottle for another toast.

The corner of Steve's mouth twisted up with a faint smile. He looked at Danny and did the same. “Someday.”

They lapsed into silence for a little while.

“Grace back with Rachel?” Steve asked after a moment, changing the subject.

“Yeah, just dropped her off.” Aside from a stop at the store to get the beer, Danny had come straight here after. Saying goodbye to her had been harder than usually this time and he kept reminding himself that he'd see her again next weekend, that it was only five days until Friday.

“How's she doing? With everything?” Steve asked.

Danny sighed. “She's okay, I think,” he said. If anything, she seemed to be dealing a lot better with Matt's death than Danny had expected. But then, Danny sometimes wondered how much she even remembered about her uncle.

“It'd been three years since she'd last seen him,” he added and felt a sudden surge of anger churning in his stomach. Matt had left the island without even saying goodbye to her.

She had asked about him that first Christmas after Matt had left. Danny couldn't remember the lie he had told her to explain why her uncle couldn't at least give her a call. He still had the card she'd made for Matt's following birthday. He kept it with the letters she used to write to Santa Clause in a box under his bed.

“How much does Grace know about… what he did, what happened?” Steve asked, snapping Danny out of his thoughts.

He shrugged. “Nothing, really. I hate lying to her but I want her to remember him the way she knew him.”

Steve was quiet, just stood there and out of the corner of his eye, Danny could see his thumb picking at the label of the bottle. He bit the inside of his lip as he realized that maybe there had been a reason for Steve's question. Because Danny was lying to Grace just like Steve's parents had lied to him. He couldn't help but wonder if Steve thought he should tell Grace the truth about Matt and his death, if Steve resented him for lying to her.

But then he cleared his throat and nodded. “That's good,” he said.

Danny turned to face him and frowned. “You really mean that?” he asked. “I mean… with all the things your parents kept from—“

“This is different,” Steve cut him off, eyes fixed on the water. “She's just a kid.”

“You were, too,” Danny reminded him softly.

“It's different,” Steve insisted. “Reyes is dead, it's not like he's going to come after her.”

“Yeah.” It came out as just a whisper. Danny had made sure Reyes would never be able to hurt Grace.

Dropping his gaze to the sand, Danny clenched his hand tighter around his beer bottle.

How could he ever tell her that he had killed a man in cold blood? That he had raised his gun to a defenseless man's head and pulled the trigger. It didn't matter who Reyes was, what he had done or threatened to do, whether he had deserved to die or not. What mattered was that Danny had taken the law into his own hands, had appointed himself the man's jury, judge and executioner when he had no right to do so. What mattered was that he had killed another mother's son, maybe some other man's brother, some kid's father or uncle. It mattered that he'd hurt people the same way Reyes had hurt his family.

“You didn't have a choice, Danny.”

Danny's chest ached with every shallow breath he took. And for once, Steve's words did nothing to ease the pain, the heavy weight of guilt resting on his shoulders. Not even a little. “I'm not so sure about that,” he forced out through his closed off throat.

“He threatened Grace,” Steve reminded him. But all it did remind Danny of was the fact that Steve had been right there with him when he'd pulled the trigger, that Steve had seen what he had done.

“That doesn't make it right.”

“If I get the chance, I won't hesitate to put a bullet in Wo Fat's head. Not anymore.”

The words, the way they were spoken — quiet, calm, determined — sent an ice cold shiver right down to Danny's bones.

He stared up at Steve. “We'll get him,” he promised, “put him back in a super max where he belongs.” Not just because it was the right thing to do. Above all, Danny didn't want Steve to feel the way he felt about Reyes.

“It's not enough, Danny.” Steve insisted, hands clenched to tight fists by his sides. “He got out before and—“ He stopped, shook his head. Danny could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves in tandem with the constant splash of the ocean near their feet. “He used Jenna to get to me. He killed her right in front of me after she'd served her purpose.”

Danny couldn't stop the small huff of breath he gasped out. He had never known for sure. Steve had never said that he had been in the room, that he had seen her get shot, that he had watched her die. It broke Danny's heart that he had had to, that he had been unable to stop it from happening, that Wo Fat had made him feel so helpless.

“I'm not just gonna sit by and let something like that happen again,” Steve added.

Of course. It was never about him but always about everyone else. The people he had to protect.

“I'm more worried about you,” Danny said quietly.

“Yeah.” Steve tilted his head to the side, relaxed just a fraction. “You said that.”

“He said he's coming after you.” Danny had said that, too. But it bore repeating. “ _You,_ not anyone else.”

“I'm not afraid of him.”

“I am.”

Steve looked at him then, an unreadable expression on his face. He finished his beer and turned away, setting the bottle down on the chair behind him. Danny immediately missed the proximity, the presence, the warmth he could feel even without touching.

Steve just stood there, looking at his parents' house. “I hate this,” he suddenly said. “Constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to make his move. I just want it to be over.” He paused, looked back at Danny and shrugged. “I can't live like this.”

He sounded so exhausted, so tired of it all.

Danny took a last swig from his own beer. Joining Steve by the chair, he set his bottle down next to his. “I didn't want you to come to Colombia with me because I thought Wo Fat might have been behind the whole thing,” he admitted quietly. They'd never talked about the fight they'd had in the car, never resolved it.

Steve didn't react, just dropped his head a little.

“You did, too, didn't you?” It wasn't really a question, Danny suddenly just _knew_. Steve had planned the entire trip, had assessed all the risks, the possibilities.

“ _If we get separated, if you need to find your own way home…”_

He had always considered the possibility that this was another trap for him.

“And you went anyway.”

Steve turned to look at him. “I wasn't gonna let you go alone. _Especially_ not if Wo Fat had been behind it.”

Danny didn't know what to make of that. “You have no self-preservation instinct, do you?”

“Do _you_?” Steve asked and Danny thought he could see something akin to fear flicker across his face.

“I saw what he did to you in North Korea. I'm not gonna let that happen again,” Danny argued.

Steve lowered his gaze to the ground, set his jaw in firm determination. “However this ends, whatever happens to me… I don't want you to —”

“No, don't,” Danny said, cutting Steve off. Because he didn't want to hear it, couldn't stand the possibility of Steve getting hurt by Wo Fat again, the idea that maybe there was nothing he could do to prevent it, to keep him safe… That he might lose him.

He had just lost Matt. He couldn't lose Steve, too.

Danny closed the short distance between them. Steve just looked at him. He didn't move when Danny reached up and rested a hand over his heart.

He could feel Steve breathe, his chest rising and falling steadily. He was here, alive. Danny took a moment to make sure, taking in the warmth underneath his hand, the faint heartbeat.

Steve let him, quiet and patient.

“Nothing's gonna happen to you,” Danny promised.

Steve let out a small sigh. The exhale brushed warmly over Danny's skin and he realized how close they were.

He curled his fingers, digging into the worn fabric of Steve's polo shirt, the firm muscle underneath. Because it felt nowhere near close enough. Danny wanted to wrap himself around Steve, hide him away from the rest of the world, keep him safe and whole. Make him understand that he couldn't lose him. Make him understand that he was loved and needed. That nothing could ever happen to him.

Danny slid his hand up, curled it over a shoulder, over strong, tense muscle. He wrapped the other hand around the back of Steve's head, fingers entwining with short, silky soft hair.

Steve didn't resist as Danny pulled him down, closer. Another silent exhale gusted softly over Danny's skin, his tingling mouth. Staring at Steve's lips, Danny angled his head ever so slightly to the side.

Just needing him to  _ understand,  _ Danny closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth to Steve's dry lips. It was nothing but a soft, light touch, an insignificantly brief kiss.

But when Steve's hands curled around Danny's sides and settled on his hips, not pulling him in but also, more importantly, not pushing away, just holding on, Danny leaned in again. He sealed his open mouth over Steve's. Tugging gently at the strands of hair caught between his fingers, he slipped his tongue in between soft, pliant lips, tasted beer and _Steve_.

Steve remained passive, let Danny kiss him, careful and slow for what felt like hours.

When Danny eventually pulled back, just an inch, he kept his eyes closed, exhaling the breath he'd been holding. “Nothing's gonna happen to you,” he whispered again. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

He opened his eyes just in time to see Steve lean in, touching his forehead against Danny's, surprising him. “I wish it was your decision,” Steve said quietly.

And Danny hated that he was right. It wasn't up to him what happened. No matter how hard he tried, Wo Fat would find a way to get to Steve. “I know,” he said, hating even more the fact that he was thinking about Wo Fat right now when he'd just _kissed_ —

Steve suddenly let go, hands falling from Danny's hips, the touch of warm skin against his forehead gone. Danny swayed where he stood, eyes closed once again, he dipped his head forward ever so slightly, seeking that touch again but he found it out of reach.

Swallowing, he opened his eyes. Steve had taken a step back, had put the smallest distance between them. He could just as well have been a mile away. Standing stiffly straight, he was staring at the house again and just like that, the moment was gone.

Steve hadn't kissed him back, Danny belated realized. He'd allowed the kiss but hadn't returned it.

Ice spread though his veins, his stomach churned. He swallowed as his throat squeezed. “I— I'm sorry about— I didn't—“

“Don't be sorry,” Steve said softly, cutting him off. The words surprised Danny, sent his mind reeling over what it meant, that he wasn't supposed to be sorry about—

“It's okay,” Steve added. The suddenly dismissive tone of his voice, the small shake of his head as he spoke only made Danny's head spin faster.

“It's okay?” he echoed because what the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, it's okay,” Steve confirmed. “I get it.”

“You— you _get it_?” However Steve interpreted what had just happened, whatever conclusion he had drawn, Danny was pretty sure he didn't get anything.

“You've been through a lot these past few weeks,” Steve said, finally turning away from the house. He still didn't look Danny in the eye. “You— you don't have to apologize for anything or explain. It's fine.” He briefly lifted a shoulder, averted his gaze to the ground. “It doesn't matter.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut. “Oh,” Danny said, the sound escaping before he could clamp his mouth shut. His first instinct was to object, to deny what Steve thought he knew. Because he didn't. He didn't know anything. And because it hurt to hear him diminish the meaning of the kiss like that. To have him assume it was just the product of dealing with too much and not finding the proper outlet.

_It doesn't matter._

It mattered to Danny. It mattered so much.

But so did Steve. And their friendship.

And so Danny took Steve's reaction for what it was. An opportunity to pretend the kiss had never happened, never meant anything at all. To remain what they were. What Steve needed them to be.

He nodded. His face twitched when he attempted a smile. “Okay,” he said, not sure how he managed to not choke on the small word. “That's— that's good,” he added when Steve looked at him with grateful relief in his eyes.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is the chapter that gave this story its name... more than halfway through >_< (the working title for this was The Breakfast Club, by the way. For obvious reasons ;)).   
> Anyway, I wanted to use the opportunity to say Thank You to everyone who has made it this far. Thank you for following along and I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post 5.07.
> 
> Warnings: mentions/aftermath of (psychological) torture, PTSD, panic attacks

##  **Someday**

Chapter 15

  
  


_The halogen lamp above him stuttered, stumbled, cracked in its constant hum as it started to flicker, plunging the subterranean hallway into momentary darkness before illuminating it again in light too bright and too artificial._

_Danny blinked burning eyes, flinched as the electric buzz reverberated through every nerve ending in his body._

_He readjusted his grip on the automatic rifle, raising the hot muzzle an inch higher, just off the ground. The smell of gunpowder and blood filled his nose. He could taste it on his tongue, feel it burn in his lungs. He moved forward, made his way along the corridor lined with faceless corpses, not sparing them another glance, not bothering to check if they were really dead._

_There was a door half way down the corridor. Danny brought the weapon up, ready to fire, as it swung out and open._

_His vision tunneled, his heart lurched inside his chest._

_Steve's dead eyes were staring right at him, a small round hole in the center of his forehead was leaking tiny droplets of blood onto the shiny wet cement floor._

“ _No,” Danny heard himself whisper. It felt like he was chocking on the small sound._

“ _You're too late,” a voice to his left said, mocking him. Danny knew that voice. Knew that he would never forget it, hate it and the person it belonged to for the rest of his existence. But the voice, its owner, neither could be here. Not here, not anywhere. He'd made sure of that — hadn't he?_

_Tightening the grip on his weapon, Danny turned, searching for the source of the voice._

_The left corner of the dismal, dank room was empty. There was another electrical buzz and the harsh light of halogen lamps dropped out for a heartbeat before it came back on, glaring even brighter, making Danny's eyes prickle, burn._

_A sound — fingers thrumming on hollow metal — made his head snap to the right. At the other end of the room stood a man. Danny froze. He couldn't be here. Marco Reyes couldn't be here._

“ _I killed you,” Danny said, his voice barely a hoarse whisper._

“ _Did you?” Reyes asked, his eyes gleaming dangerously._

_Danny fired his weapon without another thought. But, somehow, the hail of bullets missed the man standing merely a few feet away. When the rifle clicked empty, Danny kept pulling the trigger. The sound echoed loudly in the room. Reyes chuckled, his snake-like face twitching grotesquely._

_Then there was that thrumming sound again and only now Danny noticed the battered and rusty brown 55-gallon barrel drum next to the man. His throat closed, he couldn't breathe._

_His gaze followed Reyes' as the man's eyes slowly traveled over to where Steve's dead body still lay. Reyes clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “It doesn't really make a difference, does it?” he said. “Whether it's just a few seconds or… weeks, months.” The fingers thrummed on the drum's lid again. “When you're too late, you're too late,” he added with a casual shrug._

_No. This wasn't right._

_Reyes took a few steps towards Steve, then stopped half way between the drum and his body and thoughtfully tapped a finger against his pursed lips. Danny couldn't move._

“ _He's not gonna be an easy fit,” Reyes observed evenly, glancing back to the drum. Then he looked at Danny. “I wonder how many cuts it's going take this time.” Reyes let his gaze drop and Danny suddenly saw the machete in the man's hand._

_With a feral smile, Reyes raised the weapon and pointed it in Danny's direction. “Care to take a guess?”_

“ _Don't you touch him!” Danny yelled._

_Reyes' face split with an ugly grin. “What, are you going stop me?” he asked, mocking, taunting._

_Yes, Danny wanted to yell. He wanted to grab his rifle and use it to bash the bastards face in, wanted to tackle him, wanted to kill him with his bare hands... but his feet still wouldn't move, he was frozen in place, rooted to the spot and Reyes was moving closer to Steve again._

“ _No,” Danny yelled when the man stood over his body, raising the machete once again. The halogen lamp flickered, this time spraying a shower of sparks over them._

_Reyes looked over his shoulder at Danny and smiled. “Say goodbye, Detective,” he snarled gleefully. Then he raised the weapon even higher, over his head and swung it down toward Steve._

“ _No! No!”_

He came awake with a start, gasping out a broken sound. His heart felt like it had ballooned inside his chest, thumping too hard and too fast against his breastbone, squeezing his lungs against a solid and too tight cage of ribs. Every insufficient, panting breath burned like fire in his chest.

“Danny?”

He blinked his eyes until his vision cleared, focussed on a painting of a tropical beach hanging on the beige wall across from him. Disoriented, he squeezed his eyes shut again and flinched at the stinging pain across his left cheekbone.

“Hey, Danny!”

_Should have put ice on that._

The thought flittered along the edge of the haze in his mind, almost went unregistered among the chaos of fractured thoughts and memories, the vague sense of fear, panic and all-encompassing loss. But it echoed around in his skull, stuttered and stumbled (like a halogen lamp with a loose contact), insistent, refusing to be ignored.

And then it was like the thought shifted into place. He sucked in a deep breath, realizing, remembering how he got that bruise and that the chaos in his head— It had just been a dream, a nightmare. Steve was… not dead.

But Reyes was. And so was Wo Fat.

And Matt. _Matty._ His body cut up into pieces and stuffed into a 55-gallon standard-size drum like some kind of toxic waste.

Danny swallowed hard, choking down the real memories along with false ones his subconscious had conjured up in his sleep, unable, unwilling to face either right now.

“Hey, you okay?”

The hand that settled on his shoulder was a welcome distraction.

Danny blinked his eyes again, gave his head a shake to clear it and shifted in the comfortable arm chair he was sitting in. Alani's row of vinyl chairs bolted to the linoleum floor had nothing on the waiting area at the Tripler Army Medical Center, he decided.

Kono's concerned face suddenly moved into his line of vision. “Hey, Danny. You with me?” she asked quietly, smoothing her hand up and down his arm with gentle insistence.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. Rubbing at his eyes, he pushed himself against the back rest to sit more upright. Kono dropped her hand to rest it on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She was in the chair next to his, legs folded underneath her, body twisted around to face him.

“How long was I out?” he asked and then cleared his throat at the rough sound of his voice.

She sighed. “Not long, just a few minutes.”

“Did I miss anything?”

She gave him a long look before her gaze briefly flickered to the admission desk. Frowning, she shook her head. “No,” she said and then looked down at her hand in her lap. It was tightly curled around her phone.

Danny suddenly realized they're alone. “Where's Adam?” he asked. He had been there before, had arrived shortly after Kono.

“I sent him on a coffee run.” Tilting her head to the side, Kono smiled softly. “His phone kept ringing.”

Danny remembered. Adam had refused to take any business-related calls, wanting to be close to Kono as they… waited. Watching her leave HQ to go after a deranged, dangerous psychopath couldn't have been easy on him. But he had just stood there, grabbed her hand as they'd rushed past him and told her to be safe.

“He's a good guy,” Danny said, covering Kono's hand on his arm with his. “You're lucky to have him.” He tired to smile, too, but flinched as he was once again painfully reminded of the bruise under his left eye.

Kono winced sympathetically. “He got you good, huh?” she asked.

Danny shrugged. “It's fine,” he said and removed his hand from Kono's to carefully probe the skin over his cheekbone.

“I'll ask the nurse for an ice pack,” Kono decided. She was out of her chair before Danny could stop her.

He didn't really care, just kept pressing his fingers to the sore spot on his face, focussing on the stinging pain. It was nothing, just a bruise. An accident. Not inflicted with the intent to hurt. Just the result of a reaction to an overwhelming situation.

It hadn't even been the paramedic's fault. He had been careful, calm. Speaking loudly, clearly to his dazed, confused patient, doing his best to telegraph his actions before executing them. No one could have seen Steve's violent, terrified reaction coming when the guy had tried to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

If anything, the pain in Danny's cheek was a welcome reminder, proof that Steve was alive. And for now, that was enough. More than Danny could have asked for.

Because he'd been too late again.

“ _It doesn't really make a difference, does it? Whether it's just a few seconds or… weeks, months,”_ the dream, Marco Reyes' voice, echoed in his mind.

Too late again.

They had gotten Steve out of that basement, that god awful torture chamber. But Wo Fat had already been dead when they'd arrived. It could have just as easily been Steve. The bullet graze on the side of his forehead was a testament to that.

Danny couldn't tell if it was due to skill or just dumb luck that Steve was the one who got to walk out of there. Leaning heavily on Danny and Chin, stumbling his way up the endless steps, collapsing as soon as they'd reached the top. But alive.

Steve was alive and Wo Fat wasn't. For now, that was all that mattered.

Whatever came next, they'd deal with it.

“Danny. Danny?”

The voice finally filtered through his thoughts. Danny looked up and found Kono, Chin and Lou looking down at him.

“Hey man, you okay?” Lou asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Danny blinked his eyes, lowered his hand from his face. “I'm fine,” he said with a quick, dismissive shake of his head.

Kono settled back into the chair next to his. “Here,” she said, holding out an ice pack to him. Danny accepted it, ignoring the way everyone watched him closely. He gingerly placed it on the bruise as expected, wincing at the cool pressure.

_Steve was alive._

“What are you guys doing here so soon?” Kono asked. Danny was grateful for the distraction.

“HPD's got the scene covered,” Chin said. He sighed. “We— Duke knew we wanted to be here, so…” He trailed off with a wave of his hand. It was then that Danny noticed the bruised, split knuckles. Surprised, he stared up at Chin, only to find him exchanging an odd look with Lou.

“What?” Danny demanded. Dropping his hand from his face, he squeezed the ice pack tightly in his fist, making the gel inside squelch loudly.

Arms crossed over his chest, Chin exhaled a deep breath before his troubled gaze landed on Danny. “There was another room,” he said, barely controlled anger lacing his words. It was so rare, so unusual for Chin to show that much emotion. It was enough to make Danny's stomach churn. “He— he must have had it built just to—“ Chin stopped, his throat rippled. It looked like he was swallowing down words he couldn't bring himself to say.

“It's white. Walls, floor, ceiling,” Lou continued for him, shaking his head. “I've never seen anything like it. It's… sterile. Like something straight out of a sci-fi movie.”

Danny just stared at them, their words not making sense to him. He couldn't even picture what they were describing, not in that dank, filthy basement they had found Steve in.

Chin inhaled a steadying breath. “There was projector hidden underneath one of the wall panels. We found a couple of rolls of film.” He frowned darkly, eyes staring at some point over Danny's shoulder. “One was of John, Steve and Mary at the beach. Doris was behind the camera. The other one was of a news reporter, from the day Doris had faked her death.”

“That's strange,” Kono said. Danny didn't look at her but he could hear the confusion in her voice. She didn't understand, hadn't figured it out yet.

“No,” Danny disagreed quietly, disgusted. He squeezed the ice pack in both hands to stop them from shaking. “No, it's just sick.”

He could feel Kono's questioning gaze on him. But he couldn't bear to look at her, tell her what it all meant. He just stared at Chin instead, watched him as he clenched his hands to tight fists, in spite of the bruised knuckles. Chin's very own reminder, maybe, that Steve wasn't dead. That he'd survived the hell Wo Fat had built for him.

“I don't—“ Kono cut herself off with a frustrated sigh.

“Psychological torture,” Chin told her. It was all he could bring himself to say.

Danny tried to drag a deep breath into his squeezing lungs. “He— he used the tapes to remind Steve of the family he had. And then—“ He stopped, scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, hoping that bastard was burning in hell. “Then he reminded him of how he lost it. How he lost everything.”

As he finished, he turned to look at Kono. Her expression was unreadable. Then a frown began to crease her brow. “Is that— is that why he asked for his dad?”

Danny shrugged, exchanged a look with Chin and Lou. “Probably,” he said and hell, it all made a whole of a lot more sense now. Between the drugs in his system, the vicious head trauma and Wo Fat's trip down memory lane, it really wasn't a surprise how confused Steve had been when they'd found him. That he hadn't even been able to tell the paramedic what year it was.

“There were gas canisters attached to the air vents,” Lou added, completing the horrifying picture. “Chloroethane. Max says Wo Fat must have used it to knock Steve out.”

Danny squeezed the ice pack again. “Fantastic, that's absolutely fantastic,” he muttered, resisting the urge to just fling the pack across the room, to punch his own fist into a wall until his knuckles were bruised and split open, too. More drugs, more chemicals. The plethora of needle marks on the back of Steve's shoulders had already freaked the doctor out, what would he say if—

Danny's head snapped up. “We have to tell the doctors about the gas!”

“Don't worry, brother,” Lou said calmly, “we called as soon as we found the canisters.”

Danny sagged in his chair, exhaled a deep breath. “Good, that's good,” he said absently. There was nothing good about any of this.

With a tired sigh, Lou sunk into the empty chair to Danny's left. Chin sat down next to Kono and together, they waited.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“You can go inside, sit with him for a little while if you want to.”

Gently, with a hand on the small of his back, the nurse ushered Danny through the large sliding glass doors that allowed the staff at the observation desk a clear view of their patient. She guided him all the way to the wide arm chair next to the bed. Danny was grateful for her presence; he couldn't tear his eyes away from Steve.

“ _Commander McGarrett is resting,”_ the doctor had said. But the words didn't quite measure up with what Danny was seeing. Steve didn't look like he was resting. He looked like he was barely even alive. 

There was a large bulky bandage covering the bullet graze on the left side of his forehead. Butterfly strips were helping to hold the stitched cut above his swollen eye together. The whole area, from forehead all the way down to his cheekbone, was one big bruise, puffy and red, turning purple, burst capillaries spreading out along the edge like tendrils underneath the nearly translucent skin. There were more, smaller bruises forming along his jaw and on the right side of his face. An ugly stitched cut in his lower lip.

“ _He was lucky. The bullet didn't perforate the skull. It seems to have deflected off the frontal bone, causing a small hairline fracture but no direct injury to the brain. He also suffered a zygomatic fracture and a concussion.”_

Danny eyes focussed on the nasal cannula providing oxygen as he sunk into the chair. After a moment, he let his gaze travel lower, to the steady and even rise and fall of Steve's chest.

“ _His lungs sound a little crackly. He may have aspirated some fluids at some point. He might develop pneumonia but we're hoping to prevent that.”_

There was a bundle of cables sneaking out of the neck of his gown and to the monotonously beeping heart monitor next to the bed. The sound, though proof of life, provided no comfort. Instead, Danny found himself waiting for the seemingly inevitable. The moment when the steady rhythm would drop off into one uninterrupted drawn-out sound.

It never happened.

“ _Electrical shocks can interfere with heart function. So far, his ECG shows no abnormalities but we'll continue to monitor him closely for the next twenty-four hours.”_

The rest of Steve's body was covered by the gown and a thin sheet. Danny studiously ignored the plastic bag hanging off the side near the foot of the bed. He had spotted it when he'd first peered into the room through the large, floor-to-ceiling observation windows. The lack of privacy in this room seemed suddenly disturbing.

Danny reached out to pull the sheet higher over Steve's still body but aborted the movement when he found it weighed down by arms tangled up in IV lines. Words like hypnotic benzodiazepines, sedatives and barbiturates started spinning around in his head again as he stared at them.

“ _We're doing our best to flush the drugs out of his system. However, at the moment, I am concerned about Commander McGarrett's liver and kidney function.”_

His eyes were glued to Steve's arms. Hands still suspended in midair, Danny wanted to touch, to comfort. But he couldn't find a spot where he wasn't afraid to inflict even more pain. The wrists were circled by raw abrasions from the restraints. There were needle marks on the arms and they were covered in ugly bruises, reaching all the way up to merge with ink. They looked defensive, each one representing a blocked attack. The split knuckles, however, showed clear signs of fighting back. Danny didn't want to know how many more cuts and bruises the gown and sheet were hiding.

“ _There are four sets of electrical burns on the Commander's chest and abdomen. They didn't damage any major blood vessels or organs. However, there is some severe tissue damage underneath the skin.”_

Danny exhaled a shaky breath slowly. It was all a little too much to take in. He looked back up to Steve's face, hoping to find him awake but his eyes remained stubbornly closed. The unnatural paleness of his skin made the bruises only stand out more prominently, long dark lashes blending in seamlessly with dark smudges under the eyes. Danny couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside his head right now.

“ _He showed signs of severe confusion, even got combative when he was first brought in. It may be due to the drugs, the head trauma or the abuse he's suffered. Probably a combination of all these factors. But he seems to respond well to the familiar military structure and was able to follow direct commands.”_

Absently, Danny touched the bruise on his own cheek, reminding himself once again that Steve was alive and that that was all that mattered. He had survived. The rest, all of this, they could deal with. Hopefully.

“Do you want an ice pack for that?”

The nurse was back, Danny realized with a start. He hadn't seen or heard her come back in.

She was standing on the opposite side of Steve's bed but her round, friendly face was focussed on Danny.

He blinked at her. Slowly lowering his hand, he shook his head. “No, it's fine.”

She smiled, tight but sympathetic. “It's late, Detective,” she said, her tone apologetic. She was kicking him out. “Commander McGarrett is resting, you should do the same.”

Danny wanted to shake his head again. He didn't want to leave, wanted to be here when Steve woke up. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. But the doctor had told him he could only stay a few minutes, that Steve and the other patients in the ICU needed rest.

With a sigh, he stood, not wanting to cause any trouble. Steve was in good hands.

“I'll come back in the morning,” he announced, sinking his hands into the pockets of his pants.

The nurse nodded. Danny wasn't sure he had spoken to her. “Check with the front desk when you do,” she told him. “If he remains stable throughout the night and his stats continue to improve they will likely move him to the step-down unit in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Grateful, for the bit of positive news as well as being spared the experience of finding an empty bed the next day, Danny returned her smile. It was still difficult to bring himself to turn away and leave.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


The chair next to the bed was occupied.

With his eyes closed, hands resting folded on his belly, and long, outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, Lou looked like he was sleeping.

Danny frowned, surprised to find him here this early. For a brief moment, he wondered if maybe Lou had never left. The thought sent a vague flutter of discontentment through Danny's gut.

Dismissing it, he eased quietly into the room, not wanting to disturb Steve.

He looked better than he had the night before, Danny decided as he let his gaze linger on his partner's still, resting form. Last night, he had looked all but dead; lying flat on his back, his unmoving body carefully arranged in the bed with arms unnaturally straightened out at the sides. Today, he had his head tilted slightly to the side, one hand was resting low on his abdomen, fingers curled into the sheet covering him.

His skin didn't look as translucent under the darkening bruises. Maybe that was just due to the change of scenery. The new room was bright with daylight opposed to the artificially glaring halogen lamps in the ICU. Steve also seemed to have lost some of the monitoring equipment. Danny took that as another positive sign.

Carefully, he cleared his throat to announce his presence as he walked the short distance up to the bed. Lou's head came up with a start and he blinked bleary eyes a couple of times. When he focussed on Danny, he propped himself up in the chair with a grunt.

“I figured you'd be back early,” he said, offering a faint, tired smile.

Danny shrugged, not sure how he felt about being so predictable. He shifted his attention back to the bed and its occupant. Steve slept on, seemingly undisturbed.

“How's he doing?” Danny asked quietly, thinking that maybe Lou had been here long enough to have a doctor or a nurse come in to give him an update.

“Better,” he said, confirming Danny's own visual assessment.

“You on the other hand…” Lou added with a wave of his hand in Danny's direction.

Danny huffed irritated, dismissing the comment. He knew he looked like shit, didn't need that fact pointed out to him.

He hadn't been able to sleep last night, not really anyway. He'd dozed on and off, unable to drop off into the deep sleep his body was craving since Colombia.

No surprise there.

Another bad night. He hadn't hoped for anything else; maybe expected worse.

Danny couldn't really remember the last good night he's had. The bad ones were starting to take their toll on him. Looking into the bathroom mirror that morning had been a mistake. With dark circles under his eyes and gray, papery thin skin, he looked almost as bad as Steve. The darkening bruise on his cheek completed the miserable picture.

At least he was still functioning. He still managed to get some kind of sleep. Most nights, anyway.

Insomnia was something that truly scared him.

“Why don't you pull up a chair?” Lou suddenly said. He gave Danny a long, assessing gaze and then lazily lifted a shoulder.

Danny stared back at him with eyebrows raised in surprise. “You don't have to stay,” he said. The idea of sitting in the second row didn't hold much appeal. That chair Lou was sitting in, as close to the head of the bed as the medical equipment allowed, that was _his_ chair. That was where Danny was supposed to be.

But Lou simply leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, shrugging again. “I got nowhere else to be,” he said.

Danny's sleep-deprived brain refused to come up with a come-back, a reason for Lou to leave and him to stay. All it did was produce a small glimmer of doubt. Trying to ignore it, he frowned and grudgingly looked around the room. There was no second chair. The glimmer flared up. He felt strangely obsolete.

“You all right, man?” Lou asked.

His eyebrows were drawn together in concern. Danny figured something must have shown on his face. He didn't answer, simply averted his gaze back over to Steve, avoiding Lou's heavy, scrutinizing look and the question.

Danny stood there, near the foot of the bed opposite from Lou, watching the even rise and fall of Steve's chest, feeling awkward and useless.

“You really do look tired,” Lou said after a beat. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Maybe you should get some more rest. I'll stay, keep an eye on him,” he offered.

Danny felt another flutter of irritation in his chest. “You don't look all that well-rested either,” he observed and only then realized the truth of his statement.

It was the father in Danny that made him wonder how Lou was dealing with what had happened. After all, it had been Wo Fat who had murdered Ian Wright right in front of his daughter's eyes; before freeing her from the cage she'd been kept in like an animal.

But if it had been memories from that day that had kept Lou awake last night, he didn't let it show. He shrugged again, nonchalantly this time. “Well, I was resting before you came in.”

“By all means,” Danny said, waving a hand at Lou and the stupid chair.

“I can't sleep with you just standing there.”

“Sleep is overrated, anyway,” Danny muttered in response, no longer able to keep his irrational annoyance with Lou's presence from taking a hold of the tone of his voice.

Lou sighed. He gave Danny another long, assessing look.

“Nightmares?” he asked quietly.

Danny bit down on his lip and stared at the mound of Steve's feet on the bed. Predictable again, he thought darkly.

He could _feel_ Lou's eyes on him again. Kind, sympathetic eyes. They only added fuel to his growing irritation. The way they weighed heavy on his skin, seemed to see right through him, see how this whole mess was affecting _him._ He hated how that look suddenly made him the object of concern and worry. It felt wrong, misplaced. Steve was right there.

“At least _he_ seems to be resting easy.”

Danny looked up and found Lou watching Steve, his expression soft and caring. It wasn't entirely unexpected but still took Danny by surprise. He knew Steve and Lou had bonded over the last few months, had somehow, in spite of their initial dislike for one other, found some common ground to build a friendship on. It was just that, until now, Danny hadn't realized how much Lou actually genuinely cared.

Unbidden, a fraction of the annoyance stirring in his gut dissipated.

“He was awake earlier, before I got here,” Lou continued thoughtfully. “Doc said he seemed more coherent.” He paused. “He did ask about Wo Fat, though. It's probably going to take a while to really sink in that he's dead.”

“Yeah.” Danny said and sighed. Steve wasn't the only one who was going to need a little time to come to terms with what had happened.

“Do you have any idea what this was even about?” Lou asked, still studying Steve. “I mean, if Wo Fat had wanted him dead…” He frowned, left the sentence hanging.

A cold shiver ran down Danny's spine. Lou was right. If Wo Fat had wanted to kill Steve, he would be dead right now.

Danny curled his hands to fists, resisted the urge to touch the bruise on his cheek again.

Steve wasn't dead.

Lou looked up at him, his eyes asking for an explanation. Danny swallowed, shrugged up a shoulder. “There's always something Wo Fat wants that Steve can't give him,” he said in a tone as conversational as he could manage. He thought about North Korea and Shelburne, doubting that this time had been any different.

Lou sat up straighter in his chair, eyes wide, curious. “This happened before?” he asked, letting his gaze shift back to Steve for a brief moment, as if he was checking that he really was there and alive. Danny could empathize with the urge.

“He didn't tell you, huh?” he asked.

Shaking his head slowly, Lou glanced yet again back over to Steve, his eyes lingering this time. “He gave me the lowdown on Wo Fat after the thing with Ian Wright. Guess he left out some details.” He paused, focussed on Danny again, his brow creased. “What happened?”

Danny swallowed hard. “Wo Fat used a friend of ours to lure him to North Korea,” he said, his voice flat as he refused to let the emotions attached to those memories show. “Tortured him for information he didn't even have at the time.”

“North Korea?” Lou asked, wide-eyed again. “You got him out of there?”

Danny nodded. “With the help of a few SEALs.”

Lou sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. “Wow,” he simply said.

“What happened to your friend?” he asked after a beat.

“Wo Fat killed her,” Danny said and remembered what Steve had told him. That he'd been in the room, that he'd seen Jenna die. And then he remembered finding her body, leaving her behind in that bunker. At least she had been reunited with her fiancé in the end. At least there was that.

The image of Jenna's body, though. It had always stuck with Danny. Her lifeless corpse in that dark, filthy basement… It suddenly, for the first time, made him wonder if that was how Matt had died — before his body had been cut to pieces and stuffed into an oil drum. Had he been lying there in that basement, dead, like Jenna? Like Steve?

Danny blinked his eyes, touched the bruised on his cheek. Steve was not dead, he reminded himself and tried to clear the images of Matty, Jenna, Steve from his mind. He pressed his fingers harder into the tender flesh, trying to use the now familiar pain to remind himself, too, that they had brought Matty home, that they hadn't left him behind… like Jenna. And that was a good thing, because Matt didn't have anyone in Reyes' basement… except Reyes himself.

Was his body slowly decaying down there? Had somebody found him or was his body still there? The shell, the part of him Danny hadn't taken. He had taken everything else. With just one bullet he had taken it all. Left only a body behind. Like Wo Fat had done with Jenna. Just like Wo Fat. He was exactly the same. Exactly like Wo—

“Danny? You all right, man? Hey?”

Danny started. The room spun and settled as he tried to focus his eyes on… anything. He blinked but only saw Marco Reyes' dead eyes stare back at him. “I—“

Lou was moving, his large hands reaching out to Danny. “Come on, man, come here, sit down.”

Danny jerked his elbow out of his grip. “I'm fine,” he hissed, hands raised to ward off any other attempt at touching him. He took an unsteady step back from the bed. “I just— I need some air,” he said and turned, rushed through the door and down the seemingly endless corridor.

All he knew was that he couldn't breathe.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	16. Chapter 16

##  **Someday**

Chapter 16

  
  


Danny wanted to lose himself in the sea of gray. Stop his mind form thinking anything and just drown in the dullness of it all.

He was sitting on a bench facing the parking lot, bent over, staring blankly at the asphalt. His head was swimming, his thoughts scattered, slippery, one moment there and then gone. But that was okay. He didn't want to think about death anymore. Or what he'd become.

And yet, every time he closed his eyes, Marco Reyes' greeted him with an ugly smile, reminding him that he was a murderer, just like him.

Suddenly, his world went darker. For one blissful, surreal moment, Danny thought the universe was answering his prayers, letting the earth swallow him whole. But then he saw, out of the corner of his unfocussed eye, that something, someone to his left had simply moved in to block out the sun. A logoless paper cup appeared in his sea of grey. He smelled coffee.

Rubbing his eyes, Danny turned his head to look up at Lou. “Thanks,” he said, accepting the cup.

Lou hummed an acknowledgement and sat down beside him, taking a sip from his own coffee.

Danny stared out into the parking lot, squinting at the glaring sunlight reflecting off the shiny cars in front of them. “You should have stayed with Steve,” he said quietly. Someone should be there.

“Doc kicked me out. They're doing some tests.”

Danny turned to look at Lou's profile as he sipped on his coffee again. “Did he wake up?”

Lou nodded. “Few minutes after you left.”

Shit.

Abruptly, Danny stood.

Lou reached for his wrist. “Hey,” he said, calm but insistent. “They said they'd be a while.”

Reflexively, Danny tried to jerk his arm free but this time, Lou held on. “Sit down, drink your coffee. They're not gonna let you see him right now, anyway.”

Danny stared at him. Letting go of his arm, Lou simply raised his eyebrows, challenging him go and find out for himself.

Danny surrendered. Heavily, he dropped back down onto the hard wooden bench. Took a sip from his cup. The coffee burned the tip of his tongue.

“How is he?” he asked, staring out into the parking lot again.

“Confused. Disoriented,” Lou confirmed Danny's suspicions. “I think he's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't.”

Danny ached, deep inside. He remembered Steve asking for his dad in the basement, thinking he was alive. He didn't want to have to tell him again that he had died four years ago. That he couldn't see him, that he was gone. Danny knew exactly how much his words had hurt Steve, how much pain they'd caused. Danny understood. He had experienced loss, had felt that raw, all-encompassing pain upon finding out. Still felt the lingering ache. Still missed his brother more than he'd ever thought he would.

It wasn't fair. Steve had lost his father four years ago. He shouldn't have to go through it again. No one should hold that kind of power, be able to repeatedly inflict that kind of pain upon another human being.

All Danny wanted to do was to spare Steve that pain, not be the instrument inflicting it; a weapon wielded by Wo Fat from beyond the grave. A monster, just like Wo Fat himself.

Jenna, Reyes. One and the same.

Danny released a shaky breath. “I can't— I can't do this,” he said and realized his hands were shaking.

“Do what?” Lou asked evenly.

“I don't know,” Danny answered, lifting his shoulders helplessly. “I don't know what to do. I don't know what that bastard did to him to make him believe his father's still alive. I don't know how to make it better. I don't know how to help him. I just— I can't do this.”

“You don't have to have all the answers, you don't have to fix anything,” Lou said, still calm. “All you can do is be there for him.”

Danny huffed out a humorless, hollow laugh, glad his seizing lungs had managed to expel any air at all. “I couldn't even do that.”

“Why?” Lou asked. There was no accusation in the tone of his voice, no blame. Only concern and curiosity. “What happened back there?”

Danny stared at his still trembling hands, felt the coffee sloshing inside the cup. He couldn't even remember what they'd been talking about before he'd left, couldn't come up with an explanation that would make sense, a believable lie. “I don't know,” he simply said.

“You wanna talk about it?” Lou offered.

“About what?”

“Any of it.” Lou shrugged. “You just lost your brother, you almost lost Steve yesterday. No one expects you to be fine.”

“Why can't I be?” Danny asked, feeling a strange, unexpected jolt of anger surge through his entire body. This wasn't fair. “I mean, just look at Steve. How does he do it? Honestly, how? The Taliban tortured him, they almost cut his head off for god's sake. And he? He's fine, doesn't even mention it. Catherine decides not to come back and he just acts like she never even existed. How does he do that?” Danny shook his head. His chest felt tight, it was getting harder to breathe but the words just kept rushing out of him. “I— I mean, there's so much more. Joe and Shelburne, Jenna, Doris… He lost his father and his goddamn best friend within days and— and somehow he's found a way to move on and I— I can't… I just can't.”

The cup suddenly slipped from Danny's numb fingers. Coffee spread out in a dark cloud on the asphalt. The small breath his lungs let go came out as a choked sob. “Why did he have to die?” he whispered and buried his face in his hands as his vision began to swim with unshed tears.

If Matt hadn't died… Danny would have never pulled that trigger.

Shame burned hot in his veins as he realized that there was a part of him that only wanted Matt to still be alive in order to alleviate his own guilt for what he'd done. Erase the killer he'd become as a result of his brother's death.

He wondered if Steve had ever taken a life like he had. Without justification. Maybe in the line of duty, following orders. And maybe he knew a way to deal with that kind of guilt, too. Maybe he had a way to make it all go away. Black it out, redact it like the mission report. A neat box inside his head with a convenient label. Classified.

A gentle hand settled at the center of his back, smoothed upward, along his spine and eventually curled around his shoulder at the crook of his neck, strong and solid. “It's all right, it's okay,” Lou said gently. “It's okay.

“This is good,” he continued after a beat. “It's awful and it hurts. But it's good to let it all out, to let it happen. It's important to let it happen. Otherwise, you'll never be able to move on.”

Breathing hard, Danny stared at the coffee stain on the ground in front of him, not sure what to make of Lou's words, wondering if he even understood. Danny couldn't imagine that this kind of pain, this ache deep inside his chest, could possibly be a good thing.

Lou exhaled a deep breath. “I know Steve makes it look easy. But you got it wrong. What he does is not moving on, he's not dealing with the pain. He carries it with him, ignoring it, pretending it's not there. But it's there, every day, festering. And if he doesn't start working through it, it'll all spill over one day and trust me, it's gonna be ugly.”

Lou's words sent a shiver of ice through Danny's veins as he remembered once again that moment in the basement, when Steve had asked for his father and Danny had told him that he'd been dead for four years. Steve had quickly choked down on the pain, pushed it back to that overflowing recess of his mind where he buried it all. But he hadn't been fast enough, his defenses lowered due to a combination of drugs, torture and exhaustion. For a brief moment, Danny had seen it. A perfect reflection of the pain he felt over his brother's death.

Danny couldn't fathom the idea of carrying that kind of pain with him for four years.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“You can go back inside,” a doctor at the observation desk told them with a kind smile when Lou and Danny made it back to Steve's room. The man wore thick glasses and had black hair with flecks of gray around the receding hairline. His name tag read 'O. Rivero, M.D.' Danny was almost sure he was a different doctor than the one he'd spoken to yesterday but… last night was a bit fuzzy in his memory.

“Commander McGarrett is awake,” Rivero added and nodded his head toward Steve's room.

Danny let his gaze follow the doctor's line of sight. The room's large window allowed a clear view of the bed. Steve just lay there, vacant eyes staring in the direction of the old tv set hanging in a strange contraption from the opposite wall. He either hadn't noticed them standing outside his room, or was resolutely ignoring them.

“How's he doing?” Danny asked, unable to tear his eyes away from Steve.

“Surprisingly well, to be honest,” Rivero answered. “There are no signs of infection, his lungs sound good. The drugs have cleared from his system, kidney and liver function are picking up. The ECG looks normal.” He paused. “If you intend to question him, though, I must insist that you go easy due to the head injury he's suffered. If at all possible, I'd like you to hold off from taking his statement for another day. He needs rest.”

“That's okay,” Lou assured the doctor, “we're in no rush.”

“The investigation is already closed?” Rivero asked.

Danny turned to face the man. He had his eyebrows raised curiously. “No,” Danny said, his voice flat. “But the man who did this is dead.”

“I see.” Rivero expression remained professionally detached, but Danny didn't miss the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

“The ER sent up Commander McGarrett's belongings,” Rivero then said. He stepped around the desk and retrieved a clear plastic bag from a drawer. It held everything Steve had had on his body when he'd left the basement. Gray pants, a pair of underwear, and two sets of heavy leather restraints. Danny felt his stomach turn at the sight and looked away.

“They also documented his injuries,” Rivero continued, apparently oblivious to the reaction. “I can have someone e-mail you the report and photographs. Just leave your contact information with one of the staff.”

“We will, thank you,” Lou said and took the plastic bag from the doctor.

With a smile, Rivero said his goodbyes and left.

“I'll take this back to the Palace,” Lou said, staring grimly at the bag and its contents. “I should get back there, anyway. Chin and Kono could probably use some help.”

Right. There still _was_ an investigation ongoing. Even though none of Wo Fat's goons had made it out of the basement alive. They still had to identify them and the woman they'd found dead in the room with Steve and Wo Fat. And they needed to make sure that no one else at the dry cleaners had known what had been going on right under their noses. Reports had to be written. And eventually, Steve would have to give an official statement. If only to satisfy the CIA, FBI and whoever else still had an interest in Wo Fat.

Danny sighed and ran a hand though his hair. Why couldn't it just be over?

“You gonna be all right?” Lou asked, eyebrows raised.

Danny froze. As much as he had wanted to be alone with Steve earlier, now he didn't really want Lou to leave. What if he couldn't do this after all? Whatever _this_ was.

“Like I said,” Lou added gently at his hesitation, “all you can do is be there for him.”

Slowly, Danny nodded. It was the least he could do, really, to be there for his best friend.

And maybe, just maybe, he could learn a thing or two from him. About how to flip the switch, how to turn off the pain and not feel anything for a little while.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Steve didn't seem to notice him as Danny walked up to the glass door. He had his eyes closed now and Danny thought that maybe he was asleep again. But when he started to push the door open, Steve's previously relaxed body tensed abruptly, his head snapped towards the source of sound and movement.

Startled by the sudden reaction, Danny froze where he stood and watched as Steve squeezed his eyes shut with a soft groan, hands at his sides clenching in the sheet covering him.

“Hey, easy,” Danny called quietly, “it's just me.” He quickly closed the door behind himself and made his way over to the bed, tip-toeing as he went to make as little sound as possible. He didn't want to add to the obvious pain Steve's was in.

The chair next to the bed was empty now. Danny hesitated briefly before sat down on its edge. He lifted his arms to reach out to Steve, feeling the need to provide some form of comfort as he rode out the pain. But just like the night before, he still didn't know where to touch. His hands simply hovered in the air, useless.

Licking his lips nervously, Danny tentatively settled a hand on the bed next to Steve's still tight fist. It looked like the knuckles were going to break through the scabs covering them. Danny couldn't bear the sight. He gently laid his hand over Steve's to hide that small hurt from the world.

When the fist under his palm started to relax, Danny looked up and found teary eyes watching him. He reached out to brush sweat-damp, oily hair from Steve's forehead, carefully avoiding the bandage. “Hey,” he whispered when Steve's eyes finally focussed. “You need me to call the nurse, get you something for the headache?”

With seemingly great effort, Steve swallowed convulsively a few times.

Nausea, too, Danny thought grimly.

“Already got somethin',” Steve then rasped out, eyes sliding shut once again. “Gi'me a minute.”

“'kay,” Danny said softly and waited. He kept caressing Steve's hair when he slightly leaned into the lingering touch. At least it didn't seem to aggravate the pain.

“What happened?” Steve suddenly asked. He was looking curiously up at Danny. But when his gaze landed on the bruise on his cheek, the expression changed into a dark frown. The hand under Danny's fingers twitched. “You're hurt?” Steve blinked a few times, eyes clouding with confusion. “Lou didn't say… You— Were you there, too? Did Wo Fat— Did he hurt you?”

“No, babe, I'm fine, okay,” Danny reassured quickly. “It's nothing. I'm fine, he didn't hurt me.”

Steve absorbed that with the frown firmly in place. He swallowed again, licked dry, chapped lips. “Where is he?” he asked, barely managing to keep his eyes open. “Where's Wo Fat?”

“He's dead. He's gone, okay. He's not coming back. It's over. He'll never hurt anyone again.” The words tumbled from his mouth as he wondered how Steve could not remember when the vacant stare of Wo Fat's dead eyes was forever edged into his own mind.

“What happened?” Steve asked, clearly confused.

Danny didn't know what to tell him. He only had half the answers. He only knew what was obvious. There was so much he didn't know. Like why Wo Fat had done this in the first place, what he'd wanted from Steve this time. Or what had happened in the white room. Why Steve had thought his dad was still alive.

“What do you remember?”

“I— I'm not sure.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut. The hand underneath Danny's formed a tightly clenched fist again. “It's all… It's not real,” he added, rolling his head ever so slightly on the pillow as if shaking it. He quickly aborted the movement, grimacing in pain.

“What isn't real?” Danny prompted, gently smoothing his thumb across the sweat-dotted forehead. Steve's confusion made his skin prickle. He felt like an asshole for thinking about himself in all this but he just didn't want to have to tell him again that his father was dead.

“I left,” Steve said.

Danny didn't understand. “You left?”

“I did. But— But I didn't.” Steve paused, unfocussed eyes gazing aimlessly over Danny's shoulder. “Because he died.”

“Who died, Steve?”

But Steve didn't seem to hear him. “I stayed because they both died and I— I couldn't go back.” He took a couple of shaky breaths, eye lids dropping. “I didn't go back,” he repeated, softer, quieter, his voice fading out as he unwillingly fell asleep.

Danny sighed, feeling strangely relieved. He wanted to help, wanted to do something to make all this just a little easier on Steve. But he still just didn't know how and… there was a part of him, small but insistent, that just wanted to get up and leave. Get out of this room, get away from the pain and confusion and the feeling of sheer and utter helplessness. Pretend, maybe just for a little while, to be blissfully ignorant of it all.

It was a scary, frightening thought. That he had it in him to just leave. Leave the person behind who meant so much to him, who needed him. And for what?

There wasn't even a point in running away from anything when he knew Marco Reyes would follow him everywhere he went.

So he stayed. Right where he was; one hand still covering Steve's, the other caressing his hair, thumb stroking his forehead as if he could smooth out the lines there, soothe away the confusion inside his head.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


A close-by movement startled Danny into awareness. He grunted, blinked his eyes and jerkily moved his head, realizing that it rested on his arm.

A feather-light hand settled briefly on his back. “Sorry, Detective,” a soft, apologetic voice hummed somewhere above him. “I tried not to wake you.”

Confused and disoriented, Danny blinked his eyes again and lifted his head. He was still sitting in the chair by Steve's bed, was still holding his hand in his own. He must have fallen asleep, slumped over onto the mattress next to him.

The fingers entwined with his own curled to give a light squeeze. Danny turned to the head of the bed. Steve was watching him, a small, fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” Danny said stupidly, still sleepy and dazed and maybe also a little overwhelmed.

“I'll be done in a sec,” the soft voice mumbled.

Giving his head a shake to clear away the vestiges of sleep, Danny craned his neck further to the right and found a woman in scrubs squeezed into the corner between the chair, bed and medical equipment. She was injecting something into the IV, holding the cap of the syringe between her teeth.

“What's going on?” Danny asked.

“It's an antiemetic,” the pixie faced nurse said as she finished her work, “to help with the nausea.” She recapped the syringe and wiggled her way out of the tight spot. Making her way to the foot of the bed and picking up the chart, she looked at Steve. “Let's hope this one does the trick.”

“Thanks,” Steve said with a croaky voice and sighed.

She smiled and nodded. “Let me know if that headache gets any worse, okay?” Not waiting for an answer, she breezed out of the room.

Danny wasn't a hundred percent sure that this wasn't really a dream.

“You have drool on your chin.”

Perplexed, Danny turned to stare at Steve. The idiot was smiling again, wider but crooked, skin stretched tight around the stitches in his lower lip. Rolling his eyes at him, Danny raised his free hand to rub at the cooling wetness on his face. Disgusted, he decided this wasn't a dream after all.

“Hey,” he said again.

Steve answered by huffing out a small laugh that had him scrunching up his face in pain.

“You want me to get the nurse back?” Danny asked, squeezing the hand in his.

“No,” Steve said softly, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. “I'm good as long as I don't move.”

Danny wasn't convinced. He still let it go and asked, “What did I miss?”

“Lunch,” Steve answered unenthusiastically. He lifted a hand to vaguely gesture at the tray on the rolling table on the other side of the bed. On it sat a plate with saltines and a small plastic cup of what looked like peanut butter.

“You didn't eat it,” Danny observed.

“I'll try again once the meds kick in.”

Right. Nausea. Danny blew out a frustrated breath.

“Your phone's been ringing,” Steve said.

Danny frowned. “It's on silent.”

“Vibrate,” Steve corrected.

“Oh.”

Still not letting go of his partner's hand, Danny awkwardly stretched to reach over his arm and grab for the phone which lay on the blanket somewhere by Steve's knee. He quickly scanned the notifications. Kono was, apparently, bored at work. Or had been, around ten in the morning. By eleven, the tone of her messages had changed. She seemed a little worried about his lack of response. The one from twelve twenty-three only read 'Call me!'

“Anything important?” Steve asked.

“Nah,” Danny said, tapping the screen to send a quick, appeasing reply. Goofy thumbs, he remembered when he started to try and type one-handedly.

“You can let go, you know. It's not like I'm gonna bolt.”

Danny felt his skin start to prickle as he suddenly became overly aware of his hand. Their hands. Resting on the bed by Steve's hip, curled into each other.

“With you, I'm rather safe than sorry,” he said lamely, forcing a smile. Steve just looked back at him with an unreadable expression. Danny unfurled his fingers, his palm brushing over the scabbing skin of Steve's knuckles, letting go. The hand felt stiff, crampy and useless when he returned to typing his message.

“I'm not complaining,” Steve said. “Doc said he'll probably let me out tomorrow if someone stays with me. So you see, I need you.”

“Tomorrow?” Danny dropped his phone, staring at Steve and the dark bruises all around his left eye and the way he held himself unnaturally still to stop the headache from igniting again. “That seems a little irresponsibly soon.” As far as he could tell, Steve couldn't even sit upright right now without vomiting all over himself. No one should consider him moving anywhere anytime soon. Least of all to some place without proper medical supervision.

Steve slowly lifted the right shoulder. Danny interpreted the movement as a shrug. “No real reason to keep me here once they're sure all the crap he injected me with has cleared out of my system.”

Danny could think of a reason or two for him to stay. Like maybe the fact that he had literally cracked his head and broken his face.

“You remember that?” he asked instead, careful not to address Steve's earlier state of confusion too directly. He hadn't been sure if Steve remembered anything at all.

Steve grimaced. “Felt like acid going in. Burned like hell.”

The words sent a cold shiver down Danny's spine. He swallowed. “What did he want?” he asked quietly, tempted to reach out for Steve's hand again. It still lay where he'd left it by his hip, now curled to a tight fist. The ligature marks stood out red and angry against the unusually pale skin. “I mean, was there even a point to all this?”

Steve exhaled a deep breath. “He was looking for his father,” he said, his voice flat. “I told him I don't know where he is. He said he wanted me to convince him.”

Bile rose at the back of Danny's throat.

Steve's brow furrowed in dark confusion. “I— I don't remember… I think I remember Lou saying I shot him.”

“You didn't have a choice.”

Unlike me, Danny thought to himself.

“I wanted to kill him,” Steve added, his eyes losing their focus. “He said—“

“What?” Danny prompted when Steve clamped his mouth shut.

He took a few deep, heavy breaths through his nose, swallowed thickly. “It doesn't matter.”

“Steve,” Danny begged, not knowing for what or why.

Steve exhaled slowly. Tension leaving his body, he sagged deeper into the cushions, eyes once again sliding shut. “I'm tired.”

It was like a wall going up, shutting Danny out within seconds with staggering effectiveness.

“Okay,” he acquiesced for a lack of options. “I'll go grab something to eat, call Kono, all right? I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Steve opened his eyes again. He looked at Danny for a moment and licked his lips. “You don't have to stay,” he said.

Danny scowled. “You're an idiot.”

 

 

**to be continued…**


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: panic attacks, moral ambiguity

##  **Someday**

Chapter 17

  
  


“ _I was worried,”_ Kono scolded as soon as she answered Danny's call. _“Another twenty minutes and I would have come over there.”_

Staring at the sign pointing toward the hospital's cafeteria, Danny sighed. He should have gotten a cup of coffee before calling her. “Sorry. I fell asleep,” he explained, attempting to stretch sore neck muscles before leaning his tired body against the wall.

“ _Oh,”_ was Kono's only response. He anger seemed to deflate. She blew out a breath. _“How's he doing?”_

The question sent a flutter of irritation through Danny. What did she want to hear? That he was fine?

“Pretty good for someone who got shot in the head yesterday,” he snapped.

“ _Dude,”_ Kono admonished sharply and Danny cringed, more at his own words than hers.

“Sorry,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. None of this was her fault. Lashing out at her wouldn't fix anything.

Kono blew out another frustrated breath. _“How are_ you _doing?”_ she asked, still with an edge in her voice.

“I…” Danny said and that was as far as he got. He didn't know the answer. It didn't matter anyway.

Kono heaved a sigh.  _“You wanna hang out later, after they kick you outta there for the night?”_ she asked.

Danny stared out the window across from him. It was early afternoon, he hadn't thought about leaving for the night yet, about going home, being alone with his thoughts and leaving Steve alone with his. The idea scared him. “I'll think about it,” he said, wondering if maybe he could stay right here, keep doing whatever the hell it was he was doing, keep busy, not think too much.

“How are things going on your end?” he asked to change the subject, to not think about not thinking anymore.

“ _Slow,”_ Kono groaned. _“Most of the workers from the dry cleaners don't even speak English, half of 'em are in the country illegally. The manager, the guy you punched out — his lawyer filed a complaint, by the way — says he knows nothing about anything.”_

“Figures,” Danny commented. “What about the woman?”

Kono huffed, it sounded annoyed. _“No idea who she was or why she was working for Wo Fat. We'll probably never know. Feds came to pick up her and Wo Fat's bodies.”_

“Great.”

“ _Yeah. Max was pissed.”_ Kono paused. _“A couple of suits showed up here, too. They wanted to talk to Steve.”_

“What?” Fucking vultures. Was it too much to ask to give Steve a little time to at least get his thoughts into order? What the hell was the rush anyway? Wo Fat was dead and suddenly they cared? Why hadn't anyone given a shit when he had escaped from prison in the first place, when this entire nightmare still could have been avoided?

“ _I know,”_ Kono commiserated. _“Chin decked one of them. Assholes.”_

“He what?” Danny asked, trying to picture a scenario that would cause Chin to lose his eternal zen like that. He came up blank.

“ _The guy brought it on himself. God, the nerve these people have,”_ Kono growled. _“Anyway, they'll probably figure out where you guys are and show up there. I'm giving you permission to shoot them in the face.”_

Danny grimaced at her words, heard the sharp intake of breath on Kono's end. _“God, sorry,”_ she added.

Danny closed his eyes, leaning a little heavier against the wall. “It's fine,” he said quietly.

Steve was alive, he reminded himself, resisting the urge to touch the bruise on his cheek again.

“ _No, it's not.”_

“No.”

Silence stretched between them.

“ _The translator is back from her lunch break,”_ Kono said eventually _. “I gotta go back to the dungeon of misery and question some more scared, angry and desperate people. ICE are already scratching at the doors.”_ She sighed. _“Most of them are gonna get deported. Like Wo Fat hasn't ruined enough lives.”_

Danny swallowed thickly. He hadn't managed to ruin Steve's life, had he?

“ _Please meet me for drinks later,”_ Kono whined.

“I might have to stay here and fend off asshole feds.”

“ _Fine, I'll come meet you there. I feel like shooting someone.”_

“Cool. See you then.”

  
  


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The lunch options in the cafeteria made Danny's stomach turn. He eventually decided on an unexciting peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he scarfed down with big, hasty bites. The cup of black coffee was still scalding hot when he drank it to wash the stickiness from his gums. He itched to get back to Steve's room, wanting to be there in case the federal agents dared to show up.

The bastards were faster than he'd expected. There were two men in suits standing in the door to Steve's room when Danny rounded the corner of the corridor. Fuming at the audacity, he hurried over. “Hey,” he called from a few feet away. “Can I help you?”

One of the men, a tall, lanky guy with no hair and dark-rimmed glasses turned to face him. Looking dismissively down his long nose, the man frowned. “And who are you?” he asked.

“Detective Danny Williams,” Danny answered and only then noticed the forming bruise on the man's lower left jaw. His chest swelled with pride and a smug sense of satisfaction.

“Special Agents Weber and Hanowski,” the man said, gesturing first at his partner and then at himself. The other man, Weber, was shorter, grayer and older but had a quiet, powerful presence about him. Intimidating to most people, probably.

Hanowski held up his credentials for examination. FBI, Danny noted.

“We're here to speak with Commander McGarrett,” the younger agent added as he pocketed the ID again.

Shaking his head, Danny squeezed by the two men and into the room. Steve was watching the exchange with what looked like dark contempt, his whole body stiff and rigid with tension. One of his hands was tightly curled around the bed controls. He had raised the head of the bed, was almost sitting upright now and looked appropriately green around the edges for it.

“Now is not a good time,” Danny decided, squaring his shoulders as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Hanowski dismissed him with an arrogant twitch of his mouth. “Commander,” he addressed Steve, “if you're up to it, we'd like to take your statement.”

“He's not up to it,” Danny all but hissed, stepping between the agent and the bed, shoving two pointy fingers into the man's chest where he knew it would hurt.

“Danny…” Steve protested from the bed, but the uncharacteristic weakness of his voice only strengthened Danny's resolve to get rid of these disrespectful assholes.

“Detective,” Weber spoke up for the first time, his tone dripping condescension, “you may not realize the importance of this investigation but we need to—“

“I don't care what you need, okay,” Danny cut the man off. “I care what _he_ needs. And that is rest. Not answering your questions or even having this conversation.”

“Danny,” Steve said again. This time, it was less of a protest, though. It was something between a plea and an order. “Just… let's just get it over with,” he added and the words tore right through Danny's determination.

He turned around to face the bed and its occupant. Defiant eyes started back at him. Danny's instincts told him that this was a bad idea, that he should protect Steve from his own stubbornness, these agents and from reliving what Wo Fat had done to him. But the thought of getting this entire affair over with and the inherent promise of leaving Wo Fat's torture chamber behind, moving on from it all sooner rather than later, seemed too inviting to ignore.

Probably too good to be true.

Shoulders sagging, knowing he was defeated without a fight, Danny moved around the bed and to the chair.

“You tell me when you need a break or to stop, all right?” he said in a low voice as he sat down next to Steve.

Steve offered him a faint, grateful smile. “I'll be fine.”

Danny's answer to that was an eye-roll. Then he glared at the agents; they were both watching them with what felt like perverse interest to Danny. “You don't mind standing, do you?” he snapped at them.

“We'll try to make this as quick as possible, Commander,” Hanowski said. He pulled a small device from inside his suit jacket and put it on the side table. He pressed a button and leaned in, a hand holding his slim black tie against his chest as he stated location, date, time, case file designation, et cetera.

“Why don't you just run us through your day, Commander,” Weber requested as soon as his partner had finished.

Steve swallowed and stared at the wall opposite from him. “I left the house around seven thirty.”

“To go where?” Weber interjected.

“Why does that matter?”

“Detective,” Hanowski warned Danny. “I insist that you refrain from interfering.”

Danny just glared at the man. He'd interfere whenever he damn well deemed it necessary.

“I wasn't going anywhere,” Steve said. “I just… I wanted to clear my head.”

The skin on Danny's neck started to prickle as memories of the kiss filled his head. He looked at Steve but he was studiously ignoring him, his face an impassive mask as he continued to stare straight ahead.

“I thought I noticed a car following me,” he continued, his voice flat. “I slowed down, stopped to see how they'd react. I didn't see the gun.” He frowned darkly. “I don't really remember what happened next.”

“What's the next thing you _do_ remember?” Weber prompted.

“I woke up in a white room. No windows, no visible door. I wasn't restrained. My shoes and socks were gone. There were puncture marks on my arms. There were vents in one of the walls. Gas was pumped into the room. I didn't recognize the smell. I passed out again. I woke up in a different room, tied to a chair and with IV lines in both arms. There was a woman, she was handling the drugs. I was in and out of it for a while.”

Danny's stomach turned. Not just at what Steve… reported, but also at the way he did it. Detached, clinical. Like he was talking about someone else. Like it wasn't the most terrifying thing to be drugged repeatedly, to not remember, to be at the mercy of a person like Wo Fat like that. Defenseless and vulnerable and alone.

“At some point, Wo Fat came into the room,” Steve added.

“What did he say to you,” Weber asked. “What did he want?”

Steve turned his head, looked the agent in the eye for a long moment, gauging, Danny guessed, whether or not he should tell them the truth. “He wanted to know where his father is,” he said eventually and averted his gaze back to the wall across from him.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I don't know.”

“Do you?”

Steve looked at the man again. “No.”

“Did Wo Fat believe you?”

Steve frowned. He seemed to be really considering the question for a moment. “I don't know.”

“What happened next?” Weber asked.

“I was injected with something.” The frown remained. Danny couldn't tell if Steve was having actual trouble remembering or if it was getting harder to decide what pieces of information needed to go on record and which didn't. “I think I passed out again. Things are a little fuzzy after that.”

“Please try to remember, Commander.”

Steve blew out a breath. “Wo Fat left the room. I managed to get free and subdue the woman. The room was locked, I couldn't get out so I waited for Wo Fat to come back. Next thing I remember is waking up in this room.”

Weber looked unsatisfied with the abrupt end of the story.

Danny wondered if Steve really didn't remember how he'd gotten the taser burns… or the projector and films in the white room. There was, of course, the possibility that Wo Fat hadn't shown them to Steve. But Danny guessed that Steve was simply very selective about what he remembered right now and what he didn't. And Danny agreed, there were definitely things these agents didn't necessarily need to know about.

“Did Wo Fat say why he was looking for his father?” Weber asked.

“No,” was Steve's simple answer.

“Did he say anything else to you?”

“He thought his father's being held by the government.”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“I told you, I don't.” Steve narrowed his eyes dangerously at the man. “Do you?” he challenged.

Weber ignored the question. “Did Wo Fat say who he thought was holding his father? Where or why? Anything?”

Steve glared at the agent, studied his expression for a long moment. Jaw working, he averted his gaze back to the wall. “No,” he said through gritted teeth.

Steve, Danny guessed, was figuring out what he had known every since he'd talked to Kono on the phone. These guys weren't here to give answers or explain. They knew things. Danny could tell. Weber was good at giving nothing away through his body language. He had the experience, was aware of his tells. Hanowski, however, was an open book, fidgeting with the lapels of his suit jacket whenever Steve threw a question back at his partner.

But the fact that they knew things didn't mean they were going to share with the rest of the class. No matter how much Steve had been hurt by Wo Fat, according to these assholes that hadn't earned him the right to know the truth about anything. It was more of the same, really. Danny wasn't even surprised. Just because Wo Fat was now dead didn't mean everybody would just open their intelligence files and tell Steve what he wanted or needed to know to finally, maybe, make his peace with this entire absurd affair. Not that Danny was under any illusion that it was going to be that simple. Doris was involved in this more than she'd ever admitted to her son, that much had become obvious. Joe's alliances had been skewed for the beginning. There were a lot of things that needed to be revealed, dealt with, resolved before Steve could, for good, lay the Wo Fat chapter of his life to rest. But these two assholes wouldn't be any help in doing that.

“Was there anyone else in the room at any point,” Weber asked.

“Not that I remember.”

The still firm set of Steve's jaw made Danny's head hurt.

This was so not what Steve needed right now. He was getting paler by the second. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, his hands were fisting the blanket in his lap. For him, there was nothing to be gained here. Except, maybe, getting it over with. But Danny wasn't sure anymore if it was worth the price.

“Did Wo Fat mention any other associates?”

“No.” The response came out as a grunt. Danny practically jumped to his feet.

“I think we're done here,” he snapped at the agents, too loudly, judging by the way Steve flinched.

“Just a few more question, Detective.” Weber's patronizing tone only pissed Danny off more.

“He's had enough for today. I suggest you—“

“Danny, please.”

The words died on his tongue. Danny closed his eyes at the softly spoken plea. He exhaled a breath. All this was so fucked up. He wanted to put his foot down and tell this moron to shut up, lay down and rest. The agents could wait because Wo Fat was _dead_. But then… Steve wasn't doing this for the agents or the agency they represented. He was doing this for himself, to be done with it. And it wasn't up to Danny to decide if the toll this was taking on his body was worth it or not.

So Danny sat back down, sighed heavily to voice his chagrin and gestured with his hand for the agent to continue. Steve hadn't reached the point where he was being too stubborn for his own good yet. He was getting close though.

“Did Wo Fat mention anyone else, except his father?” Weber continued.

“Not that I remember.” The croakiness of Steve's voice almost made Danny change his mind.

“Did he threaten anyone you know?”

“No.”

“Did he mention your mother?”

Something dark flickered in Steve's eyes as they snapped to focus on the agent. “My mother?”

“He was in the possession of video material of your family. A news report on your mother's death. Did he ask you about her?”

“Why would he ask about my mother?” Steve countered, his voice low and dangerous.

Agent Weber regarded him for a long moment. Then he shifted his focus over to Danny. “I'm going to need you to leave this room, Detective,” he said, his tone conversational.

Danny made a show of leaning back in his chair. He shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Detective—“

“He knows my mother works for the CIA,” Steve cut Hanowski off. “He knows everything I know.”

The agents exchanged a look, a wordless communication. Hanowski then glared at Danny while Weber focused on Steve again.

“Did Wo Fat ever mention your mother?” he asked again.

“No.”

“Are you sure, Commander?”

“He didn't mention her,” Steve insisted sharply.

“Do you know where your mother is?”

“No.”

“Did Wo Fat show you the video material?”

The back and forth was making Danny's head spin. He couldn't imagine how Steve was even keeping up with the questions at this point.

“Yes,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Take a guess.”

“I don't know!” Steve all but yelled, scrunching his face up in obvious pain.

Something inside Danny snapped.

This was pointless, unnecessary. Steve didn't need this. No agency needed this. _This_ was torture.

“Okay, that's enough,” Danny hissed, trying to keep his voice low for Steve's sake as he jumped to his feet again. “Get the hell out of here!”

Weber regarded them both with infuriating calmness. Hanowski fidgeted nervously with a button on his jacket.

“I think we have what we need,” Weber said evenly. “Please contact me if you remember anything else, Commander. I'll have your statement typed up and sent over to you to sign it.”

Hanowski picked up the recording device and left a business card in its place.

Danny followed the men to the door and shut it behind them. When they stopped outside and just stood in front of the room's window, Danny reached for the string of the blinds and shut them.

“Stupid assholes,” he grumbled. “Where the hell do they get off on—“ His angry tirade got stuck in his throat as he turned back to face the bed and found Steve lying there with his eyes squeezed firmly shut, a shaky hand massaging the temple on the uninjured side of his head. “Hey, you okay?” Danny asked.

“Yeah,” Steve ground out.

Danny sighed. It had obviously been a rhetorical question.

“You need me to get the nurse? I can tell your head is about to explode.”

Steve took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, all right.”

Danny moved back to the bed and pushed the call button.

He wished there was more he could do.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“ _What's up?”_ Kono asked, sounding a little breathless, as she picked up the phone.

“Steve is taking his drug-induced post-interrogation nap and I'm bored,” Danny told her, dropping his head back against the wall of the hallway. He was sitting in a plastic chair next to a medical waste container right outside Steve's room, just in case Weber and Hanowski decided to come back because they had more stupid questions to ask.

“ _What?”_ Kono snapped.

“ _He_ wanted to talk to them,” Danny muttered and sighed. “Stubborn idiot.”

Kono blew out a breath. _“How'd it go?”_

“Not great.” Danny shrugged. He figured things could have gone a lot worse. “I don't know. Spies, you know. You _never_ know,” he added, annoyed.

“ _Spies?”_ Kono asked, incredulous. _“The guys that showed up here were FBI.”_

Danny rolled his eyes at her naiveté. “Yeah, that's what they _tell_ you.”

“ _You're being paranoid.”_

Danny shrugged again. Maybe he was.

“They asked about his mother.”

“ _Why?”_

“I don't know. I don't know anything!”

A passing nurse shot Danny a scolding look at his exclamation. He clamped his mouth shut and waited for her to move on before he added in a low voice, “But I don't think just anyone knows that Doris is a CIA operative.”

“ _They knew?”_

“Yeah.” Danny let out a groan, bumped his head against the wall behind him a couple of times in frustration. “I'm so sick of all this crap.”

“ _Did Steve tell them anything? About Doris?”_ Kono asked.

“No. He said Wo Fat didn't ask him about her but I think he was lying. I don't know. There's definitely something he didn't tell them, though.”

“ _Hm.”_ Kono considered that for a moment. _“Did Steve say what Wo Fat wanted from him?”_ she then asked.

“He was looking for his father.”

“ _Huh. Why now, though?”_

“Like I said, I don't know anything.” God, Danny didn't want to know what it felt like to be in Steve's shoes. All these mysteries and lies and secrets. It was hard to keep up just with the things they didn't know.

“How are you holding up?” he asked because he didn't want to think about Wo Fat and Doris and the CIA anymore.

“ _You know, the strangest thing happened. I had this woman in the interrogation room. One minute she's in there, crying, because she's afraid she'll get deported back to the Philippines and will have to leave her two kids back here all alone. Because, you know, what else is she gonna do? Tell ICE that she's got kids here and have them deported, too? Anyway, I go take a bathroom break, I come back and she's gone.”_

“No!” Danny exclaimed in mock outrage.

“ _Yes,”_ Kono insisted _._ _“Stranger yet, I got two hundred bucks missing from my wallet.”_

“Get out.”

“ _Right?”_

Danny snorted. “I bet ICE was pissed.”

“ _I may have also forgotten to put her name on the list we gave them… so I guess they won't ever know.”_

“Steve's gonna be so proud,” Danny mused.

Kono sighed.  _“One out of seventeen, so…”_

Right. Sixteen people who worked at the dry cleaners still had a good chance at being deported.

“Don't you love this job?” he asked.

Kono laughed.  _“We still on for drinks later?”_

“Sure.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“To our fearless leader,” Kono said seriously, raising her shot glass for the toast.

Danny couldn't help but smile at her solemn expression. He nodded and raised his glass, too. “The boy who lived,” he said. It was kind of fitting. He'd have the scar and everything. Hopefully, though, Wo Fat wouldn't raise from the dead.

Kono stared at him, confused.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Harry Potter,” he explained.

Kono frowned dubiously.

“Seriously?” How did she not know Harry Potter? Who didn't know Harry Potter?

Maybe she was just drunk.

“I read like two of those books to Grace over the phone after she and Rachel moved here.”

Kono smiled bright and fond and dimply at him. “Really?”

Danny shrugged dismissively. “I was back in Jersey, she was here… It was kind of our thing.” He shook his head, trying not to remember too much about that particularly horrible period of his life.

“You're such a dad.”

“Thanks.” Danny cocked his head to the side, mulling the comment over. “I think.”

“You're welcome,” Kono grinned. Then she downed her tequila. “You can show your appreciation by getting us another round of shots.”

“I got the last two,” Danny protested and emptied his own glass. “It's your turn to buy.”

Kono hung her head and pouted at him. “Come on, I gave two hundred dollars to a family in need today.” She started to furiously bat her eyelashes at him. Danny thought she looked like she was having a stroke. “Buy me alcohol. Please.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You're worse than Steve,” he groaned.

Kono grinned at him again, absurdly proud this time.

The moment passed. She sighed, the smile fading from her lips. “So, speaking of Steve. Did you bring up the whole Doris thing again? Did he say anything?”

“No, I didn't get a chance to ask. Steve was pretty out of it.” Averting his gaze down, Danny let his finger trace the rim of his glass. “Besides, I don't know if I should push him about this. I think that if it's something important, he'll tell me eventually. If there even is anything to tell.”

“He trusts you, brah,” Kono encouraged.

Danny nodded. He knew she was right. Steve had even told the agents that Danny knew everything he knew about Doris. But waiting for him to open up about it was hard. Even though Danny knew there was probably nothing he could actually do about the situation, he still needed to know.

“Hey.” A gentle hand settle on his back. “You holding up okay?”

“I'm fine.”

Kono blew out a sarcastic snort. “What, are you a sociopath or something?”

Danny glared at her.

Kono lifted her hand off his back and held both hands up in front of herself in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. But pretending you're all right is not gonna do anyone any good.”

She blew out a breath and assembled their four empty shot glasses into a neat square before sliding them across the bar. Then she clicked her fingers to get the bartender's attention. “Hey, we need four more of those. Put 'em on McGarrett's tab.”

The guy frowned at her. “McGarrett doesn't have an open tab here.”

“Well, why don't you start one,” Kono snapped at the poor confused guy. “There's probably gonna be a lot of drinking on that tab in the future and you know we're good for it. We're cops.”

The guy took half a step back. “All right, chill, okay? Four shots of tequila, coming right up.”

“And don't be so stingy with the peanuts,” she added, practically tossing the tiny, empty bowl at the guy.

“Kono,” Danny warned.

“What?” she snapped, head whipping around to face him. The wild look in her eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asked.

She shrugged, bristling. “Sure.”

With a sigh, she averted her gaze to stare at the shelf of bottles behind the bar. “I'm super. I'm great.”

She sounded anything but.

And then her shoulders slumped and she sagged in on herself, deflating. “You can't be fine, Danny. Because I'm not. And I need to know that it's okay to feel this way, even though, right now, my biggest problem is that Adam won't stop proposing to me.” She huffed out a hollow laugh. “I should be the happiest person on the planet.”

Danny reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It's okay to not be fine.”

She leaned into him, just for a moment. “Then why do you pretend that you are?” she whispered.

“I—“ Danny started, not sure what to say.

Kono straightened and then leaned forward to prop herself up on the bar counter. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “I hate this. How this feels.” She sighed, dropping her head forward. “I mean, shouldn't we be… I don't know, _happier_ about all this. Or… more relieved? Wo Fat's gone for good. Steve is going to be all right. Why does it feel like… _this_?”

“Like what?” Danny asked, genuinely curious about what all this felt like to her. Maybe he was pretending to be fine because he didn't even know what he was feeling. Maybe it was too much at once. Maybe there wasn't a word for it in the English language.

Kono frowned, trying to figure out what her answer was going to be. “I feel… powerless, helpless. Angry and… scared? Which doesn't even make sense because Wo Fat is dead but…” She paused. “I— I'm terrified for him,” she whispered as if shocked by the realization. Turning her head, she looked pleadingly at Danny. “Tell me he'll be okay.”

Danny wished he could.

“I was jealous, you know,” he said slowly. “All the shit Steve's been dealing with all his life and he just…” He shrugged. “He doesn't let it affect him. He doesn't deal with it, he just buries it. I was jealous of that.”

He paused when the bartender finally served the ordered drinks. Danny immediately took one of the shot glasses and downed the tequila. He inhaled a deep breath as the liquid burned in his mouth and at the back of his throat. “But the thing is… it's all an illusion,” he continued. Kono just sat there, listening.

“He may have himself convinced that he's fine right now. He'll have the world convinced in no time. But… But I won't ever forget that moment when he asked for his dad.” Even now he shivered at the memory. “That's been there, all this time.”

Kono averted her gaze to the three remaining tequila shots in front of them. “You think there's more?” she asked tentatively, as if she didn't want to hear the answer.

“I don't know if he's really dealt with anything that's happened since his mother faked her death,” Danny admitted. “And the worst part is that I don't even know if I got the full picture.”

Kono looked back up at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Things we don't know about.” Danny took another glass and drank it down. “He nearly got his head chopped off by the Taliban.”

The color drained from Kono's face. “Jesus, Danny,” she whispered.

Danny just nodded solemnly. “Joe told me. Steve, he never even mentioned it because all he could think about then was Catherine. And what do I do?” He huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. Some friend he was. “I don't even give him five minutes to take a breath. No, I drag him into this thing with Matt and… and I make him… watch. I make him— I—“

_Shit_ , Danny thought. His heart started pounding faster and faster inside his chest, his lungs squeezed. “I made him… an accomplice to murder.” His eyes lost their focus, the room started to spin. “God, what have I done to him?”

Next to him, Kono practically catapulted off her bar stool. She started yanking at his arm. Danny almost fell flat on his face as he tumbled off his seat. “Come on,” she hissed into his ear. They were outside, halfway across the parking lot before Danny even knew what was happening. Forcefully, Kono pushed him against the side of her car.

“What the hell are you doing?” she growled through gritted teeth. “You can't just say things like that in the middle of a bar. There're cops in there.”

Cops? _They_ were cops. Who gave a shit, anyway?

Danny stared blankly at her angry face. Fuzzy lights from street lamps danced in the distance. “I killed Marco Reyes, Kono,” he whispered, confessed. “I shot him and I didn't have to.” He grimaced at the memory, closed his eyes to see it more clearly or make it disappear; he wasn't sure. “It was just him and he didn't even have a gun. I still shot him and Steve was there.”

“Danny,” Kono said firmly, her slim, strong hands bracketing his shoulders.

His arms were tingling, his fingers felt numb.

“Danny,” Kono insisted sharply.

He opened his eyes. “What?” he asked, wondering what in the world she could offer him that would make this… better.

“Breathe,” she ordered.

Danny sagged against the car, let it hold him up. He dropped his chin to his chest, released a shuddering breath. “I can't.”

“Yes, you can,” Kono disagreed determinedly, her hands squeezing his shoulders. “I need you to,” she added softly.

Her round, beautiful face filled his vision, dark, concerned eyes locking with his. The lack of shock, anger, disgust on her expression was startling. Danny stared at her, mouth agape in confusion, incomprehension.

“You knew,” he whispered.

Her face softened. Her hands loosened their hold but didn't let go.

“How?” he asked.

She sighed, shaking her head. “I didn't know.”

“I'm a murderer, Kono,” he told her. Maybe she didn't understand.

Kono frowned, eyes glinting defiantly. “That man killed your brother, cut up his body and stuffed him into an drum like garbage.” Her hands squeezed again, tight, shaking him ever so slightly. “He deserved worse.”

“That doesn't make it right,” Danny insisted. “I know what he did. I know… He threatened Grace. But it doesn't change the way I feel about what I did. And— and I can't change what I did. I just—“ He jerked his shoulders in her fierce grip. “I don't know what to do.”

Looking down, she loosened her hold on him again, let her hands smooth down his arms to his hands. She took them both into hers. “You have to make your peace with it,” she said quietly.

Danny stared at her. She didn't understand.

He inhaled a couple of short, hiccuped, insufficient breaths. “No offense, but what do you know about any of this? How this feels?”

There was no peace to be made with something that was unforgivable.

She sighed, knitted her brows in determination. “I'm not gonna say that it's the same thing but… Adam's done a lot of things he's not proud of; especially back when his father still ran the business.”

She looked back up to him, curious, waiting for a reaction. When Danny just stared back at her, she continued.

“I know there was a time when he'd been thinking about turning himself in. But… what good is that gonna do? There's no one else around who he trusts to do what he's doing to legitimize the business. If he had turned himself in, he'd have gone to prison but… the business would still be what it used to be. People would still get hurt. I guess what I'm saying is that… maybe there's a way for you, too, to make amends.”

Hopeful, dark eyes looked at him.

Danny wanted to steal a small piece of that hope. “How?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she answered softly. “But I think there's someone who does.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny was floating. His body felt heavy, though. Stuck in place, reluctant to move at the speed Kono was driving.

Should she be driving? he wondered absently. She hadn't had those last two shots. And maybe it wasn't just the alcohol that made him feel this lethargic and disconnected.

The world outside was growing darker, the swirl of rainbow colored lights fading more the longer they drove. The hum of the car was the only sound between them. Danny didn't want to arrive wherever she was taking him. Right here, right now, he felt like he could pretend to forget the world around them. If only they could keep moving.

Just as his eyes had drifted shut (or maybe they'd been closed for minutes), the car took a sharp turn and stopped. The engine died and silence settled over them.

Danny blinked, looking first at Kono, then at the house that stood in front of them. He frowned.

“This is Chin's house,” he stated, confused. He wasn't sure what he'd expected. A priest, maybe, or a Kahuna. Definitely not Chin.

“Come on,” Kono simply said. And then she was out of the car and halfway up to the door.

As he levered himself out of the low seat, Danny realized he wasn't floating anymore. All that was left was the heaviness of his bones, his head. He ached all over as he stood.

On their way over here, he had allowed himself to hope. For absolution, redemption. Something.

Kono looked up to Chin. More often than not, Danny did, too. But Chin was only a man. What did she think he could say or do that would change the way he felt?

Wearily, he dragged himself up the stairs, met her by the door. She looked at him with an odd expression, her body vibrating with nervous energy, urgency that Danny couldn't comprehend. She reached over and rang the door bell a few more times.

Maybe she needed to pee.

Danny only noticed that the house had been dark when the lights in the living room came on. Moments later, the door opened and Chin looked at them, bleary-eyed and confused.

“Cuz, what are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes first scanning her then Danny. “Everything all right? Is Steve—“

“Hopefully sleeping like a baby,” Kono cut him off. She pushed the door open further and squeezed by her cousin and into the house. Danny followed when Chin moved aside in exasperated resignation.

“What's going on?” he demanded.

A sleepy Chin was a grumpy Chin, Danny noted.

“I'd like to know that, too, actually,” he said. Maybe Kono was just trying to get rid of him but was too nice to just leave his sorry ass out in the parking lot.

She fidgeted. “You need to tell him about Delano,” she said to Chin. “About what really happened.”

Chin's expression darkened. “Kono,” he said, his voice low and almost dangerous. It sounded like a warning.

“No, please, Chin,” she begged. Biting her lower lip, she clenched her hands to tight fists. “Danny needs to hear this.”

“Hear what?” Danny asked, because he still had no idea what all this was about. What did Delano have to do with anything?

Chin studied them for a long moment. Eventually, he dropped his head and walked over to the couch. He sat down, elbows propped up on his thighs, fingertips pressed together in front of him. He inhaled a deep breath. Then he looked at Danny, focussed on him, sharp and intent.

“I killed Frank Delano,” he said, slow and deliberate. Then he shook his head, averted his gaze down to his hands. “He was down, he wasn't resisting, he was just… sitting there. And I killed him.”

Danny's mind blanked. “You… You…” was all he could get out, all he could think.

“I should have told you. I'm sorry,” Chin added ruefully.

Danny barely heard him over the blood rushing in his ears. His knees felt suddenly like rubber. Marco Reyes was looking at him and Danny could see the fear in his eyes.

_He wasn't resisting,_ Chin's words echoed in his head.

“I killed Marco Reyes,” Danny whispered, not sure if it was loud enough for Chin to hear.

Chin's expression softened just a fraction, understanding flickered in his eyes. True, honest understanding, because he _knew_ what it was like.

“I made him look me in the eyes… and then I shot him,” Danny added and all he could do was stand there and stare at Chin. Because Chin was still here, still the same, still good. “How do you— How—” Danny left the sentence hanging. He didn't know what question he wanted to ask, what answer he needed.

“At first, I didn't feel anything. I— I didn't—“ Chin paused, took a deep breath. “Losing Malia hurt too much to feel anything else. It took me a while to realize what I'd done. And then the guilt started building.” Swallowing, he averted his gaze back down to his hands. “I was going to turn myself in. I went to Steve, handed him my badge and told him what I'd done.”

“What did he say?” Danny asked, remembering what Steve had told him.

_For the record, I think you did the right thing._

“He asked me if I regretted what I'd done,” Chin said, surprising Danny.

“Do you?”

“I think… Frank Delano deserved to die for what he did. But it wasn't my decision to make. It wasn't my right to kill him. It didn't bring Malia back. It… it wasn't justice. At least not the kind of justice I believe in. So, yes, in that way, I regret it. I can't change what I've done. I can't undo it. But, as Steve pointed out to me that day, I could choose to either spend the rest of my life in a prison cell, or try to do something good with it, with Five-0.”

“That simple, huh?” Danny asked. Steve was always so fucking pragmatic.

“No,” Chin said. “I don't think that what I do on this team couldn't be done by someone else. Someone who hasn't done what I've done. Someone… who deserves the badge more than I do. And I don't think I deserve to choose how I live out the rest of my life after what I've done. I—“ He paused and looked apologetically at Danny. “I'm not sure if I've made a final decision yet. But what we do… I think it's the best way to try to make up for what I've done.”

Danny considered Chin's words. It sounded… simple in a way, maybe too easy. He wasn't sure there really was a way to make up for what he'd done… what Steve had let him do.

Steve had been right there. And he had just stood there and done nothing. “Why didn't he stop me?” Danny muttered to himself.

“What?” Chin asked.

Danny flinched at the question. What the hell was he even doing? Blaming Steve for what he'd done?

God, _Steve._

“I can't even turn myself in,” Danny said, startled by the realization that even if he chose to face the consequences for what he'd done, he'd be dragging Steve down with him. And how could he?

“Steve he— he's at least an accessory after the fact,” Danny hurried to explain at Chin's confused, questioning look. “He got rid of the gun… he took care of everything.”

_Of me_ , Danny added mentally.

“I couldn't do that to him, but… I don't know if I can just…”

“Hey, slow down.” Chin stood suddenly right in front of him, rested a calming hand on his shoulder.

Danny took in a breath. Closed his eyes for a moment.

“Look,” Chin said after a beat, “this… this isn't something that you can just decide. You can't decide how you feel.” He paused, sighed. “What I'm doing might not seem right to you or… or be enough for you.”

Chin grimaced, shrugged helplessly. He squeezed Danny's shoulder and then let go, turned and retrieved his wallet from where it lay on a sideboard by the door. He fished out a small, battered looking business card and held it out to Danny. “Here.”

Danny took the card, noticing for the first time that his hand was shaking again. He swallowed, tried to steady it as he turned over the card to read it.

Dr. Harriet Palmer. The HPD grief counselor Chin had been seeing after Malia's death.

“She helped me a lot after…” Chin said. “You can trust her. I still talk to her every once in a while. On the bad days.”

Nodding slowly, Danny kept staring at the name on the card. He had met her briefly when Chin had disappeared almost two years ago, abducted by Delano's brother. She'd seemed kind. Maybe Reyes had a brother bent on revenge, too. She'd seemed to care about Chin, in spite of everything she knew about him. Delano's brother had put Chin in prison. Maybe Danny'd end up in prison, too.

“In spite of how you may feel right now, you're a good man, Danny,” Chin said, interrupting his jumbled thoughts. “You wouldn't feel this way about what you've done if you weren't. What you did is going to stay with you for the rest of your life. In a way, it'll define you, have an impact on the way you go through life from here on out. But I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. It'll make you want to be a better person. It's punishment and redemption.”

Danny nodded once again. He just hoped Chin was right.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: grief, PTSD, description/mentions of graphic violence

##  **Someday**

Chapter 18

  
  


It was early afternoon on the next day when Dr. Rivero decided that Steve was actually well enough to leave the hospital. Danny had slept at Chin's place that night and hadn't managed to get to Tripler before noon (thanks to the half bottle of bourbon he and Chin had shared after Kono had left). Steve looked a lot better than he had but Danny still wasn't convinced that letting him go anywhere without professional medical supervision wasn't a dumb idea.

Steve himself didn't seem all too excited to be allowed to go home either, which Danny considered odd. But he figured a nearly constant headache and lingering nausea would make it hard to get excited for anything that wasn't sleep. Come to think of it, a twenty plus minute car ride had to be a daunting idea for Steve right now, especially if he, as he claimed, really suffered from motion sickness.

The thought made Danny glance over to his right.

Steve sat slumped in the passenger seat of the Camaro, probably staring straight ahead at the road in front of them. Danny couldn't tell. Steve was wearing his sunglasses. The bright light outside would only aggravate the headache. Though, judging by the tight set of his jaw, the white-knuckled grip on the seatbelt across his chest and the over all paleness of his skin, the sunglasses were doing shit for the nausea.

“You okay?” Danny asked, chancing another glance over to Steve.

“Fine,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Little dizzy, that's all.”

Danny scowled at the admission. “Maybe you should have stayed an extra day.”

“Maybe.”

That took Danny by surprise. He gave Steve an assessing look, for as long as the slow traffic situation allowed. “You want me to take you back? Just say the word, I'll do it,” he offered. The upcoming intersection had a no u-turn sign, but to hell with it.

“No,” Steve grumbled just as Danny got ready to switch over to the left lane.

Indecision made him swerve between the lanes, first left then right and then left again. A horn blared behind them, then another to their right. The loud noise made Steve grunt and scrunch up his face in pain. With a huffed out sigh, Danny pulled back into the straight ahead lane in the middle of the intersection. They were three minutes from Steve's house and rush hour was upon them. It might just take them an hour to get back to the hospital and Danny didn't want to torture his concussed head with sirens.

Steve didn't move until Danny pulled into the drive-way in front of the house. And even then he only reluctantly released the seatbelt.

“Stay, all right,” Danny told him nonetheless. “I'll come help you.”

He quickly climbed out of the car and hurried over to the passenger side. The door, for some reason, was still closed when he arrived. He slowly opened it and found Steve just sitting there, hands resting in his lap. Due to the sunglasses, Danny couldn't tell whether he had his eyes closed or not. “You need another minute?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah,” Steve said and sucked in a deep breath. “Just— just a minute.”

Danny nodded and crouched down beside the open door. “Take all the time you need, okay. There's no rush.”

A moment passed and neither of them moved. Suddenly, Steve released a shaky breath.

“I can't do this,” he said, shaking his head minutely.

“What?” Danny asked, perplexed.

Breathing heavily, Steve lifted one hand in a gesture he quickly aborted. “I can't—“ He clenched both hands to fists, dropped his chin to his chest, trying to calm himself, Danny guessed.

He reached out a hand and carefully touched Steve's shoulder. “Hey, hey, easy,” he soothed. “What's going on. Come on, talk to me.”

Steve scrunched up his face in frustration. “This is stupid,” he ground out.

“What's stupid?”

“I can't— I can't go in there.”

“Why not?” Danny asked gently.

“My dad, he…” Steve said, trailing off, unable to finish the sentence.

He didn't need to. Danny understood. “It's okay. It's okay, I get it,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down Steve's arm reassuringly.

“I don't know why—“ Steve said, breaking off with a hitching breath. “It's been four years and I— I never—“

“Hey, you don't have to explain or anything, okay,” Danny said, wishing there was something he could do to help. “It's fine, we'll figure it out.”

He squeezed Steve arm just above the elbow. “Okay?”

Frowning hard in an attempt to reign in his emotions, Steve nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said.

Danny hated having to watch Steve do this. Push down on the pain that had clawed it's way up too close to the surface, hide it, pretend it didn't exist until he had himself convinced.

He looked over to the house. Steve would need some of his stuff, but Danny could come by and get it later. Right now, he needed to get Steve out of here, take him someplace that didn't have a whole life of terrifying memories attached to it. Somewhere quiet and safe.

Licking his lips, Danny turned back to face Steve. “Is it… is it okay if I take you to my place?” he asked carefully.

Steve's frown hardened. “Danny, I— I don't wanna—“

“No, don't,” Danny cut him off. He knew what the idiot was about to say. “I want you there. You're not imposing or whatever. I just want to know if you're okay with it if I take you there.”

Steve swallowed, shrugged his shoulders. “Fine,” he said, setting his jaw tightly. “You don't have to treat me like I'm traumatized or something.”

Danny sighed. He wasn't sure if in relief or frustration. His knee gave a twinge when he stood again. “Okay,” he said and carefully closed the door.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


The house was kind of a mess but Danny figured Steve wouldn't care. He was like a zombie, seemingly barely able to drag himself from the car to the front door.

Inside, Steve just stood there, not quite sure what to do with himself. Danny's stomach flip-flopped. He wanted Steve to feel more comfortable in his house, more at home.

“You wanna go lie down?” he asked, unnecessarily. Danny was pretty sure Steve was going to lie down whether he wanted to or not. “You could— I'd offer you my bed but the room gets a ton of sunlight and the curtains are worth shit.” He sighed, rubbed his brow. There was always the couch but it wasn't all that comfortable. “Hey, why don't you take Grace's room,” he suggested. “She's got shutters on the windows. The bed is big enough and I just put on fresh sheets.”

“I don't— It's her room,” Steve protested weakly and glanced back at the front door behind him. “This was a bad idea.”

Danny rolled his eyes at him. “She won't mind, all right,” he said. “In fact, she'll be happy to let you stay in her room.” He reached out to once again grab Steve arm and started tugging him toward his daughter's room. “Come on, before you pass out on the floor.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Steve was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Danny blew out a deep, relieved breath after quietly closing the door.

Back in the living room, he pulled out his phone and dialed Kono's number. He hadn't exactly planned this. The kitchen was empty, Steve needed his prescription filled and at least a change of clothes from his house. Cleaning would have to wait. Actually, he figured, maybe Kono could get started on that.

“ _Hey, what's up. Everything go okay?”_ she rushed out in a way of greeting.

“More or less,” Danny answered. “Look, I'll explain later, okay. Or maybe I won't. I don't really understand what's going on.”

“ _Slow down.”_

“I need to leave for about an hour and someone has to watch Steve. He's sleeping so…”

“ _Sure, I'll be there in twenty minutes,”_ Kono promised. Danny suspected she only agreed so readily to come over because she was hoping to get answers faster that way.

“My place, not Steve's. Like I said, I'll explain later.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“So?” Kono asked before she'd even entered the house.

“I don't know what's going on,” Danny told her after closing the door. “It's… it's his dad, I think. He couldn't go inside the house. Didn't even make it out of the car.”

Kono frowned, concerned. “Has he said anything? I mean, was he… _confused_ again?”

“No. I don't think so, at least.”

“Anything I should know before you head out?” she asked anxiously.

“He's sleeping in Grace's room. I don't think he'll wake up before I come back. If he does, call me, okay.”

“Don't worry,” Kono said and put on a determined smile. “We'll be fine.”

“I know, but still.”

“Fine. Go.” She grabbed his arm and pushed him toward the door. Then she tightened her grip and stopped him from actually leaving. “Where are you going, by the way?”

“Steve's. I— He'll need some clothes and other stuff.” Danny shrugged.

“I can go if you wanna stay,” she offered.

“No, it's—“ Danny shook his head. “I gotta do this.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


The house was… the same. Clean, neat. No surprise there. Danny had been here only a few hours ago to grab some sweats for Steve to wear on the way home. And yet… he had half expected to find a dead body in the living room. Maybe Steve's dad, maybe someone else. He remembered the crime scene all to vividly. He'd only been assigned to the case the day after the murder, when the body had already been taken to the morgue. He'd seen photos, though. Graphic, detailed photos. Head shots could be messy. Back then, the man in the pictures had been a complete stranger. A fellow cop but still a stranger. Now, he was his best friend's father. A man he would have loved to meet, get to know.

The first time he'd been in this house, the blood had still been there. Now, there were no traces left of where Hesse had spilled John McGarrett's blood. The wall had been repapered and repainted. The floors had been sanded down, probably, or replaced as well. Nothing gave away the brutal murder that had happened here. Yet today, death weighed heavily inside these walls. And for the first time, Danny wondered how Steve could even live here. How this could be his sanctuary, his home. This house had seen so much pain.

Shaking his head, Danny turned away from the living room and the memories that lingered there. He took the steps upstairs two at a time, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“Hey, you're up,” Danny said, surprised to find Steve sprawled out on the couch in front of the living room window as he came back home. He hadn't even been gone for an hour.

Steve shrugged apathetically at the comment. “It's the middle of the day,” he muttered and then continued to stare blankly into the dining area.

Danny set the bag he'd packed for Steve down on the couch facing the TV. The groceries were still in the car but they'd have to wait because Steve seemed… off. Danny wondered if anything had happened while he'd been out and pulled his phone from his pants pocket to check for missed calls. But there were no new messages. Kono hadn't even tried to call to let him know that Steve was awake like Danny had instructed her to do.

Where was she, by the way?

As if on cue, she popped her head out of the kitchen. “Hey, I was just making some tea, you want?” she offered.

“Sure,” Danny answered automatically, even though he'd never been much of a tea drinker and didn't really want to know in what dark corner of his kitchen Kono had managed to find some.

She gave him a thumbs-up and disappeared again.

“What's that?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes at the bag.

Danny shrugged. “I picked up some stuff for you. A change of clothes, your toothbrush.”

Steve frowned. “You didn't have to do that.”

“What, are you not gonna brush your teeth?” Danny asked, arching up an eyebrow at him.

The frown darkened. “I'm not staying here,” Steve announced.

“Okay,” Danny said neutrally, wondering what this was. Had Steve just gotten up on the wrong side of the bed or was this something more serious? Danny decided to just roll with it for now, to see where this was headed. “Where do you wanna go?” he asked.

“Home,” was the prompt answer. “Just—“ Steve sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and index finger. “Just take me home.”

Not the answer Danny had expected, or wanted to hear. He hadn't even been able to stay inside that house longer than absolutely necessary. It was probably not a good idea for Steve to go back there just now. Especially not after how he had reacted earlier.

Danny swallowed thickly. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” was Steve's defiant answer.

“All right.” Danny held up two placating hands in front of himself, though Steve wasn't even looking at him right now. “I'll take you tomorrow,” he said definitively. If Steve wanted to go home, then that was what they were going to do. But there was no need to rush things. Steve looked exhausted just sitting there. Another car ride would most definitely make him nauseous again. Going home, facing the demons of his past would have to wait until he was in better shape to handle them.

But Steve didn't agree. “No,” he bit out, fixing Danny with a dangerous glare.

“I'm not taking you there today,” Danny told him firmly yet calmly. “You need to rest.”

“Kono,” Steve called, as loud as he apparently dared with the raging headache wreaking havoc inside his skull.

She emerged once again from the kitchen. Danny motioned for her to stay where she was with a raised finger and a shake of his head. “She's not taking you either,” he told Steve.

“Fine,” Steve grumbled and levered himself up off the couch with a grunt. He wobbled and swayed a little as he turned to face them properly. “I don't need you.”

Danny was this close to vaulting over the back of the couch to stop him from taking a header into the (not nearly fluffy enough) carpet. “Steve, please. Sit down,” he all but yelled, calm going straight out of the window.

“Don't,” Steve countered, just as loudly, anger contorting his face. “Don't tell me what to do!”

Danny felt his heart rate quicken. This was not headed into a good direction. “Steve,” he warned.

“Stop treating me like— like I'm—“ He broke off, chest heaving as he tried to suck in a deep breath through his nose. “I'm fine, okay. I don't need to sit down, I don't need to be here and I sure as hell don't need a fucking babysitter every time you leave the house for five minutes!”

Kono flinched at the harshly spoken words.

Danny tried his best to regain his composure. He needed to deescalate the situation, make Steve feel less vulnerable, less threatened; whatever this was. “The doctor said someone needs to be with you twenty-four seven,” he reasoned. “Now, if you don't want to stay here, I can take you back to the hospital. But I'm not taking you to your house. And I won't let anyone else take you there either. Not until you tell me what's going on.”

“Screw you, Danny,” Steve spat. “This isn't your decision.”

“Yes, it is,” Danny countered, matching Steve vehemence but not his volume or anger. “I signed a form at the hospital. I'm responsible for you.”

“I didn't ask you to do that!”

“You didn't have to!”

“I'm not—“ Steve gritted his teeth, balled his hands to fists. “I don't need you. I don't need anyone.”

The words tore at Danny's heart.

“It's okay if you do,” he said softly but Steve had already turned away from him. Before he realized what was happening, Steve was in the hallway, moving faster than he had all day, than he should be able to.

“Hey, where're you going,” Danny called after him. He just entered the hallway — Kono hot on his heels — as Steve disappeared into the bathroom, door banging loudly in his wake. “Hey,” Danny called again. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the lock click. “Steve! Steve!” he yelled, grabbing the knob but it didn't turn.

“What the hell?” Kono whispered, hovering over his shoulder.

“Open the door, Steve. Steve!”

There was a crash, glass shattering. Danny thought he felt a shard stab right through his chest. “Steve!”

There was still no response. Danny tore at the door knob again, pushed a shoulder into the solid wood. The door didn't give. With violently shaking hands, he turned to Kono. She needed to call the fire department or something. “I need— I need—“ he stuttered.

Kono pushed him firmly to the side. “Let me,” she said with enviable calmness. Belatedly, Danny noticed the credit card in her rock steady hand. She slid the plastic in between the door and the frame with practiced ease, wiggled it back and forth. The lock gave a soft click.

She opened the door and Danny pushed his way by her, into the bathroom.

The mirror above the sink was shattered, shards and splinters sparkled all over. On the opposite side of the room, down on the floor, Steve sat leaning against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. He had his eyes closed, his face was a pained grimace. He was cradling his blood-smeared right hand in his left.

“Steve,” Danny said carefully as he crouched down in front of him. “Hey, babe, come on, look at me.”

“Should I call an ambulance?” Kono asked from the door.

Danny couldn't focus on her. His world had narrowed itself down to Steve and him.

Steve opened his eyes. He tilted his head to the side and looked at Danny, brows furrowed in pain and confusion. “I don't understand,” he said helplessly.

“What?” Danny asked, his desperate need to help, to do something taking a hold of the tone of his voice. “What don't you understand?”

“Why now?” Steve asked, eyes growing heavy with incomprehension and aching sadness. “It's been four years. Why do I miss him now?”

It wasn't unexpected. The fact that Steve was simply missing his dad didn't come as some big revelation. Still, his words sent a shiver down Danny's spine. He chocked down whatever painful sound threatened to come up from his constricting chest. “I don't know but it's okay,” he tried to soothe as he reached out a hand to cup Steve right cheek, the one that wasn't discolored with bruises. “It's okay to miss him.”

“I got the first aid kit,” Kono suddenly said from behind him.

Steve eyes flickered up to her. He looked at Kono as if he just realized for the first time that she was there, too.

“Hey, boss,” she said softly as Danny reached for a towel.

Steve watched silently as he carefully, loosely wrapped it around the injured hand. The light inside the bathroom was dull, definitely not bright enough to make sure there were no splinters stuck in the hand before he bandaged it properly.

“Come on,” Danny said as he moved to help Steve get up off the floor. “I'll need some daylight to wrap this up.”

Nodding, but avoiding to look either him or Kono in the eye, Steve pushed himself to his feet, awkwardly using the wall behind him for support.

Behind Danny, Kono huffed frustratedly. He knew she was fighting the urge to squeeze in next to him and help.

When Steve was upright, Danny pulled his left arm over his shoulders. Steve leaned heavily into the support. Danny figured the room was spinning for him. He himself saw spots of black dancing at the edges of his vision.

Once they were both somewhat steady on their feet, Danny steered them slowly toward his bedroom.

“Sit down,” he instructed as their shins collided with the bed frame.

Steve slumped down heavily. Once Danny was sure he wasn't going to topple over, he crouched down to be on eye level with him. “I'll be right back,” he told him. “Try not to get any blood on the bed, okay?”

Steve nodded, sluggish and slow.

Exhaling, Danny turned and grabbed Kono by the elbow. She'd been hovering nervously a few feet from the bed. “Come on,” he said and steered her out of the room.

“I got this, okay,” he whispered once they stood in the hallway.

Kono stared at him wide-eyed. “Are you sure you know what this even is?” she hissed, gesturing in the direction of his bedroom.

Danny sighed. “I got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

Kono bit her lip as she contemplated his words. Then she shook her head slowly. “I think we should call someone.”

“Who?”

“I don't know,” she said and shrugged helplessly. “An ambulance maybe. Or… I don't know.”

“He doesn't need an ambulance. He needs…” Danny blew out a breath as a lump started forming at the back of his throat. “He needs his father.”

A fraction of the tension in Kono's face and body melted away, leaving a saddened expression in its wake. “Then you can't give him what he needs,” she said.

“No,” Danny admitted. “No one can, though.”

Kono simply nodded. Then she pushed the first aid kit she still held in her hands into Danny's chest. “Take good care of him,” she told him.

Danny forced a smile for her and accepted the case. “I'll call you.”

Returning a smile that looked just as faked as his own felt, Kono nodded her head in the direction of the bedroom. “Go,” she simply said.

Steve still sat right where Danny had left him, frowning darkly at some spot on the carpet in front of him. Setting the kit down on the bed, Danny sat down next to him. He carefully took hold of Steve's forearm, mindful of the slowly healing bruises there, and pulled the injured hand into his lap. It was still wrapped in the towel and Danny noted with relief that no blood had seeped through yet.

He gently unwrapped the hand. The knuckles were split open once again, there was a bigger cut on the back of the hand, tiny scrapes all over. Two sparkly pieces of the mirror's glass were lodged in the skin at the base of the pinky finger.

Danny released a breath. “It's not too bad,” he told Steve quietly.

He fished the tweezers from the kit and winced as he pulled the splinters out. Steve showed no reaction.

When Danny had cleaned the cuts and scrapes and finished bandaging the hand, Steve shifted beside him and then huffed out a frustrated breath. Danny frowned up at him.

“You okay there, babe?” he asked.

“I can't cry for him,” Steve said, out of the blue. He shrugged, shook his head. “Never could.”

Danny's lungs squeezed as he realized Steve was once again talking about his dad. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like… to not even be able to let go of the pain in that way.

Steve was still staring vacantly at the floor. “His blood was all over the living room. I cleaned it up myself like it was nothing and moved back in.” He paused, started shaking his head again, his breathing speeding up. “Who does that?” he asked, his voice laced with horrified self-disgust. “That was my father. My _dad_. I picked pieces of his brain and skull off the wall and— and—“

Steve's entire body suddenly tensed, went rigid. The hand Danny was still cradling in his own flinched.

Steve coughed, retched. Then he doubled over abruptly and threw up.

Surprised, shocked, Danny froze.

The smell that hit his nose almost made him vomit, too. He swallowed convulsively a couple of times before he gently laid down Steve's injured hand on his thigh and reached out to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey, it's okay,” he soothed, bending over a little, too, so that his mouth was close to Steve's ear. “It's all right.”

Steve coughed again. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, breath hitching. “I'm sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Danny told him softly as he stroked his hand up and down Steve's back. The skin underneath the t-shirt felt chilled. He was still shaking.

“I'm sorry.”

Danny sighed. Slowly, he pulled Steve into a more upright position. Then he stood, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder. Carefully sidestepping the small puddle on the floor, Danny moved to stand in front of him. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Steve inhaled a deep breath, wiped the back of his good hand across his mouth. Then he nodded slowly. “I'm good.”

Danny knew he was anything but. “You're freezing,” he pointed out. Steve was still shivering. It was at least eighty degrees in here.

Maybe Kono had been right, maybe he should call an ambulance. What if Steve was going into shock?

Danny crouched down in front of him, settling a hand on Steve's knee. Steve was staring vacantly at nothing. “Buddy, come on, look at me,” Danny urged.

Steve frowned, his eyes focused on Danny.

“I need to know if I have to call someone.”

Steve's expression darkened. He looked away. “I said I'm fine.”

“You're cold.” Danny squeezed his trembling knee to emphasize his point.

“I— I need a shower,” Steve decided and before Danny could react, he was pushing himself up off the bed.

Danny quickly stood, reaching for his arm to steady him. As soon as Steve was upright, he jerked his arm out of Danny's grasp, swaying dangerously when the action brought on a wave of vertigo.

“Hey, you're not—“

Danny clamped his mouth shut when Steve visibly flinched at the sharp tone of his voice. He slowly blew out a breath, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. He understood Steve's need to regain control over himself and the situation. Still, Danny stayed close as Steve slowly made his way back over to the bathroom, ready to help in case his unsteady legs should give out.

“I'll be out in ten minutes,” Steve said once they'd reached the door.

Danny couldn't help but roll his eyes. He squeezed by Steve and into the room, grabbed a bunch of towels from the shelf and spread them out all over the floor to cover up the glass splinters. When he was finished and looked back up at Steve. He was still standing in the door, uninjured hand gripping the frame hard for support.

Danny gave him a moment to get his bearings. Then he nodded his head toward the shower and said, “Come on.”

Steve frowned and gritted his teeth. “I can shower alone,” he insisted.

Danny sighed inwardly. “I can tell you're dizzy,” he pointed out calmly. “I don't want you to slip and crack your skull open.”

Steve averted his gaze down to the floor. His jaw shifted as he debated the argument. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “Stay.” It was pure resignation. Part of Danny hated it. But he was still glad Steve knew he didn't have the energy to fight Danny on this.

Steve took a step toward Danny and then stopped again.

Danny just waited. He would at least let Steve do this on his own time, if nothing else.

Standing just inside the room, Steve started pulling up his shirt. Danny's eyes automatically focussed on the bandages on his abdomen. He swallowed. He'd forgotten about the burns.

“Think those can come off?” he asked, gesturing at the four white square bandages once the shirt was off and tossed into the hamper.

Steve just nodded and started peeling at one of them with his good hand. Danny let him do it and pretend to not notice how Steve's hand was still shaking.

He turned and grabbed the small trash can from under the sink and set it on top of the closed toilet seat so Steve could easily reach it. When Danny looked back up at him, he couldn't help but stare at the two revealed red burn marks below the right clavicle. The hair around the wound was gone. Someone at the hospital must have haphazardly shaved it off to allow the bandage to stick better.

Biting his bottom lip, Danny tore his gaze away from the disturbing sight and turned to the tub shower combo to get the water running. He figured a bath would be best, easiest for them both to handle. He popped down the drain stopper when the spray started to warm and squeezed a small bit of Grace's bubble bath into the tub. It smelled like vanilla and coconut.

When Danny turned back to face Steve again, he was just peeling off the bandage on his shoulder. The graze underneath had been stitched up. Danny hated the way the small, black lines of sutures tore into the tattoo. The scar from Afghanistan below was still visible. New, pink skin stood out almost ugly among the weathered, familiar ink.

“You sure that one can come off, too?” Danny asked.

Steve nodded mutely.

After discarding that last bandage, Steve didn't hesitate to pull his sweatpants and underwear down. Danny stared at the clothes as they pooled around his ankles. For the first time, he noticed the red abrasions that circled each joint. Friction burns, skin rubbed raw. The restraints had been solid leather, no real chance of breaking them. But Steve had still tried.

Danny kept staring at the marks as Steve made his way across the room. When he stopped in front of the tub, Danny shook himself out of his thoughts and looked up, reaching out to hold on to Steve's arm, to steady him as he climbed over the side.

To his surprise, Steve silently accepted the help.

He stood there for a moment, frowning darkly at the water rising around his legs. The small room warmed quickly, Danny felt beads of sweat forming all over, making his t-shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin.

Stubbornly, Steve reached for the hand shower.

Still holding on to his arm, Danny gave it a squeeze. “Why don't you sit down,” he suggested, keeping his tone light.

Steve set his jaw, stared hard at the wall in front of him, once again debating the offer.

Heavy steam rose up around him as the tub continued to fill. Only a few foamy bubbles had formed along the edge.

With a sigh, Steve capitulated.

Danny steadied him as he lowered himself down to sit in the tub, bandaged hand held high to keep the dressing intact. Water rose higher and sloshed lazily over the edge, spilling noisily onto the tiled floor. Steve hissed when the burns on his abdomen came in contact with the hot water.

Danny went down to his knees in front of the tub, not caring about the small puddles of vanilla and coconut scented water soaking his pants. He reached over and shut off the stream.

Steve sat tense, his back a stiff, straight line. The water settled into an almost smooth surface around him. But Steve was still shivering.

When he leaned forward, stretching to reach for the shampoo, more water spilled and splashed over Danny's legs, warm but not too hot.

Danny grabbed the bottle before Steve could. Steve scowled.

Danny nodded at his bandaged hand. “Let me,” he asked.

Reluctantly, Steve nodded.

Danny set the shampoo bottle down on the tub's edge. He cupped his hands together, scooped up some water and let it sluice over Steve's shoulder. When Steve didn't protest, Danny repeated the action. He slowly worked his way up, making sure to keep the bandage over the bullet graze on his forehead as dry as possible, even though it was supposed to be waterproof. When he was done wetting Steve's hair, he picked up the shampoo bottle again and squeezed out a dollop into his hand. Quickly, he worked up a thick lather.

Steve watched him, the frown on his face darkened. “I can—”

“Just…” Danny cut in. He lifted his shoulders, held out foamy hands. “Let me do this for you.”

Steve turned his head away, shifted in the tub. More water spilled over the edge.

Danny sank down to sit on his heels, forearms resting on the side of the tub. He shrugged again. “I don't know how to help,” he admitted. “Let me do this one thing. Please.”

Steve exhaled, his back losing some of its rigidity. He let his head dip forward. “I'm in your home, Danny,” he said quietly, like it was some kind of big sacrifice on Danny's part. Like he thought he was intruding, a burden; like he didn't belong here.

Danny stood back up on his knees. He reached forward, waited a moment to give Steve time to object.

He didn't.

Gently, carefully, Danny started shampooing the hair at he back of Steve's head.

“You can stay for as long as you need,” he said.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	19. Chapter 19

##  **Someday**

Chapter 19

  
  


Danny made sure he had Steve wrapped up in too many fluffy towels and sitting steadily on the closed toilet lid before he left the bathroom to get him some fresh clothes and bandages. When he returned, Steve had already peeled away a few layers and was carefully patting the raw skin around one of the burns dry. Danny stopped by the door and watched him for a moment.

Steve had eventually allowed himself to relax a little in the tub. He'd stopped shaking and the warm water had even put some color back into his skin. It was inviting, tempting to give in to the idea that the simple bath had fixed him, had somehow, magically soothed away a loss that he had never managed to process emotionally.

But Life wasn't that simple.

Danny cleared his throat to announce his presence as he stepped back into the room. He knelt in front of Steve and set down the small pile of clothes and medical supplies on the floor. Then he picked up the tube of ointment lying on its top. He unscrewed the cap and hesitated, not sure if he should apply it or let Steve do it himself.

A hand appeared suddenly in his field of vision. Gentle fingertips pressed against the side of his chin, tilted his head to the side. The softest touch brushed over his cheek.

“I did this,” Steve said quietly, his voice heavy with regret.

Danny had forgotten the bruise. Steve seemed to remember causing it now.

With a sigh, Danny sunk back on his heels. He shook his head. “You didn't mean to,” he assured.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said.

Danny wrapped his hand around the fingers still lingering on his cheek and pulled them away. “I know.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


After reapplying the bandages and helping Steve dress, Danny led him back to Grace's room. He didn't say anything when Steve sat down on the edge of the bed but didn't move to lie down. Danny could see he was tired, drained; exhausted both emotionally and physically. He needed to rest and Danny had to fight hard to resist the urge to tell him as much, to make him lie down. Tuck him in, maybe.

Steve's wasn't a child, though. He was a grown man, capable of knowing when it was time to give in to his body's demand for rest. Danny had never known him to be unreasonable in that regard. Maybe when it came to his soul's need for rest. But Danny wasn't exactly an expert in that area, either.

Still, Danny wanted to do something for him. Just letting him sit here and leave didn't feel right. To Danny, it was the hardest thing, to do nothing.

Danny had always cared for others. Not just since he'd become a father, or the day Rachel had told him she was pregnant. He'd always felt the need to protect those he loved. It was who he'd been raised to be.

He was the older brother. Not the first born child, but the eldest son. His dad had been a firefighter. There had always been the possibility that, one day, he might not return home from work. His dad had always told Danny that whenever he wasn't around, Danny was the man of the house, that it was his job to keep everyone safe.

But caring for his loved ones had always been more than a responsibility or duty to him. More than an acquired, nurtured trait.

Caring was in his nature, too. It was instinct, who he was.

And Danny couldn't help but care for Steve.

Still, he let him be. Because Steve wasn't used to show this much vulnerability to anyone. Wether it was Navy trained or born out of tragedy — or simply who _he_ was — Steve rarely allowed himself to be… human. Danny figured it was important to let him do things on his own time and terms; let him be in control as much as possible because that was how he seemed to cope best. Steve, Danny realized, wasn't used to be cared for.

So instead of telling him what Danny thought was best for him, he didn't say anything. He just quietly moved to the windows and closed the shutters and the curtains. The sun had set a short while ago but he wanted to make sure the bright morning sunlight wouldn't wake Steve with a headache. It was a small thing he could do without feeling overbearing. A small indulgence.

On his way back to the door, Danny couldn't help but think about the kiss. Another not-so-small indulgence. The day seemed like forever ago but Danny clearly remembered how scared he'd been of losing Steve. He had almost lost him soon after.

This time, he didn't need to touch the bruise on his cheek to remind himself that Steve hadn't died, that he was still here, right in this room, safe. He could still feel his fingertips brushing over the spot.

Danny stopped just before he reached the door and turned back to Steve.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the dim light spilling in from the hallway.

Danny swallowed. His mouth felt dry. “It mattered to me,” he said.

Steve's head came up. “What did?” he asked. Danny couldn't make out his face in the shadows but he didn't need to. The confused frown was evident in his voice.

“When we— When I kissed you,” Danny said, corrected. “You said it didn't matter,” he continued, remembering how much his Steve's words had hurt. They still did. “But it mattered to me.

“I didn't do it just because I was scared or tired or sad. I did it because I— because you matter to me.” It was important, so Danny repeated that part. “You matter to me.”

He exhaled a breath, glad to have said all this, glad to know that Steve knew how he felt now. “It's— It's okay if it didn't matter to you,” he then amended. That part was important, too. He wanted to make sure Steve knew, too, that he didn't expect anything at all. “I just thought you should know. That it mattered to me.”

He felt strangely relieved when he turned back and walked out the door.

He left it open, just a little bit, like he always did.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny peeked into Grace's room the next morning on his way to the kitchen. The shutters and curtains were keeping the sunlight out, Steve was snoring softly. For some reason, Danny couldn't help but think that this was just the calm before yet another storm. Maybe this was the eye of the hurricane. If it was, then at least they were halfway through.

For now, he could enjoy the quiet; let Steve gather his strength for what was brewing on the horizon.

Tearing his eyes away from the Steve-shaped mound on the bed, Danny made his way to the kitchen. A good, nutritious breakfast was in order. He decided on oatmeal. It'd be easy on Steve's stomach and was on Dr. Rivero's list of approved foods. First thing he did in the kitchen, though, was start the coffee.

He'd lain awake for hours last night. Exhausted from the day in every way possible but still unable to fall asleep, for too many reasons to count.

He was sipping his second cup and stirring the bubbling oatmeal on the stove when Steve came into the kitchen. The pinched expression on his face and the dullness in his gaze didn't bode well.

Danny set down his cup and turned to face him with a smile. “Hey, good morning.”

Steve scrunched up his face further, sniffed a little and then mumbled a “Morning” in return.

“You hungry? I'm making oatmeal,” Danny said. He tried to not sound too chipper. When he was grumpy, there was nothing pissing him off more than someone in an exaggeratedly good mood.

At Steve's non-committal shrug, Danny gestured across the kitchen. “There's cranberry juice in the fridge. It's supposed to be good for your kidneys, I think.”

“Thanks,” Steve said but didn't move to get a glass or the juice.

Danny sighed inwardly. He continued to stir the thickening mass in the pot. “How's the hand?” he asked conversationally.

Steve answered with another shrug. He listlessly looked around the kitchen and then frowned as if he didn't even know why he'd come in here in the first place.

Danny waved a hand at him. “Hey, you okay?” he called and spread the hand wide, deciding to take the direct approach and address his bad mood. Steve didn't want to be coddled so Danny wouldn't. “You gonna destroy any more of my furniture?” he asked.

Steve shot him a dark look. “I'm sorry about the mirror,” he grumbled.

Danny abandoned the spoon to fully face Steve. “I don't care about the damned mirror.”

With a jerky, aborted shake of his head, Steve averted his gaze to the floor. “I'm gonna go lie down,” he said and left.

Danny slumped against the kitchen counter, wishing he knew what was going on inside Steve's head.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Fifteen minutes later, Danny knocked on the now closed door to Grace's room, balancing a tray with a big bowl of oatmeal and a large glass of juice in the other hand.

There was no answer. Since Steve hadn't yelled at him to go away, Danny decided to take the silence as an invitation to come in. He slowly pushed the door open and craned his neck to look inside. The room was still dark and Danny wondered if maybe a simple murderous headache was the explanation for Steve's off mood. Maybe it was a symptom of the concussion in and of itself. Rivero may have mentioned something about irritability and psychological problems.

Steve was lying on the bed above the covers. He was on his side, facing the window and away from the door. Danny still could tell that he wasn't sleeping. His breathing was far to quick and uneven, his drawn-up shoulder were far to stiff and rigid.

Maybe sleep had been just as elusive for Steve last night as it had been for Danny.

He quietly made his way over to the bed and set the tray down on the bedside table. He resisted the urge to sit down on the edge of the bed and run his hands over Steve's tense muscles until they relaxed.

“I got you something to eat,” Danny announced. Steve didn't react.

“It's just plain oatmeal. No cinnamon or anything exciting. Shouldn't make you queasy.”

Still, Steve just lay there.

Danny sighed. “You're welcome,” he bit out sarcastically and left the room.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


About an hour later, Danny was watching some mindless crap on TV while folding laundry when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID before answering the call. It was an unfamiliar number with an LA area code. He didn't know a lot of people from the west coast but one particular person came to mind.

“Williams,” he said, grabbing the remote to mute the TV.

“ _Danny? It's Mary,”_ a tinny, familiar voice said, confirming his suspicions. _“I— What the hell is going on?”_

Dropping the remote back onto the couch, Danny frowned at the agitated, almost frantic sound of her voice. Maybe someone had called her about Steve. Could have been someone from the hospital. The team knew Steve didn't want to worry her when he got hurt unless it should be absolutely necessary.

“What do you—“ Danny started to ask but was promptly interrupted by her.

“ _I just got off the phone with Steve,”_ Mary said, surprising Danny. He hadn't heard anything from Grace's room but the TV had been on pretty loudly _. “He— Is he okay? He sounded off.”_

“Did he call you?” Danny asked, partly to avoid answering her question.

“ _Yeah. Danny, what's going on? I'm worried.”_

Danny's heart gave a little twinge at her words. He sometimes forgot that Steve still had a family in her, even though she lived an ocean away and had a tendency to get into trouble. None of it really mattered. Steve and Mary, they cared a lot about each other. The thought made Danny wonder if maybe Steve had called her to talk about their father. He doubted it, though.

“What did he say to you? What— what did he want?” he asked Mary.

“ _He asked me if I knew where mom is,”_ she said _. “He— He knows I don't know where she is.”_

Danny clamped his mouth shut for a moment to keep in the groan of frustration. Steve asking Mary about their mother all but confirmed Danny's suspicion that Doris had come up between him and Wo Fat. It didn't explain why he was looking for her, though. Probably to get some answers even though Danny didn't know why Steve would even bother to try. Doris had never given anything away, had never been honest with him. Why would she start now?

Sighing, Danny ran a hand through his hair. “Did he say why he was looking for her?”

“ _No. He just said it was really important. That he needed to find her. What's going on, Danny?”_

Danny wished he could answer that question. “I— I don't know.”

“ _Danny, please,” Mary begged. “I need to know that he's okay.”_

“He's— He'll be fine,” Danny assured her, hoping it wasn't a lie.

Mary hesitated.  _“Is— Is mom okay?”_ she asked after a beat.

Danny found that he didn't exactly care. “I don't know,” he said. “I gotta go, okay. I'll— I'll call you soon. Promise.”

“ _Take care of him,”_ Mary told him sternly. Maybe it was Joan who had brought out her protective streak. It didn't really matter, though. Danny was just glad she cared so much.

“I will,” he promised.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


This time, Danny didn't bother to knock before he opened the door to Grace's room. It wasn't completely dark in here anymore. The shutters had been opened and soft daylight spilled into the room through the thin fabric of the curtains.

Steve was sitting on the carpet, facing the window and leaning back against the bed. All Danny could see from the door was the back of his head.

“Damnit,” Steve suddenly muttered. Only then Danny noticed the phone pressed to his ear. “Joe, I need you to call me back as soon as you get this. Please.”

Ending the call, Steve sat still for a moment, head dropped low. He exhaled a frustrated breath. Then he abruptly threw the device against the wall next to the window where it clattered loudly to the floor. Danny flinched at the suddenness of the action.

“Hey!” he called quietly and walked into the room and around the bed.

Steve glared up at him from the floor. He looked strangely small, even with his long legs sprawled out in front of him. “What do you want?” he asked almost hostilely.

Danny cocked his head to the side, raised and eyebrow at him in a show of disbelieve. “I want you to tell me what the hell is going on,” he said. “Mary just called me. You got her all freaked out.”

Steve averted his gaze to his hands in his lap. “I told her not to call you,” he muttered.

“Why are you looking for Doris?” Danny asked as he lowered himself down to sit next to Steve.

“I need to talk to her.”

“Why? About what?” Danny turned to look at Steve's profile. He had his jaw firmly set. Danny gently bumped his shoulder into his arm. “Hey, talk to me.”

“I need to know if he lied to me,” he said slowly, the now seemingly constant frown on his face darkening. “I need her to tell me the truth.”

“The truth about what?” Danny asked quietly, carefully. He figured it had something to do with the history between Doris and Wo Fat. Steve had told him about the times she'd visited Wo Fat in prison in Colorado.

Thinking about it still provoked the urge to strangle that woman in Danny. He clenched his hands to fists and gritted his teeth to reign in his anger. It wasn't what Steve needed from him right now. But how could she? She'd disappeared with Kono and Adam well over a year ago and, as far as Danny knew, neither Steve or Mary had ever heard from her again. She'd abandoned her own children once again but visited the man, the monster, that had tortured her son and murdered her husband in prison? What kind of person, what kind of mother would do that? Was she just too much of a coward to face Steve and tell him the truth? Or was there something else going on?

Danny wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers to those questions.

Steve was quiet next to him. Danny bumped into him again. “Talk to me,” he asked again. “Please.”

Steve cleared his throat, swallowed hard. “He said that she took him in,” he said slowly, “after she killed his mother. She raised him as her own son.” His voice cracked the tiniest bit on the last word. He gave a one-shouldered, jerky shrug.

Danny stared at him, confused. “Wait, Wo Fat?” he asked to clarify because he clearly didn't get that right. Right?

Steve gave a slow nod. “She— I guess she was trying to make up for what she'd done.”

Shit. Danny let himself slump back against the bed frame, trying to process the fact that, apparently, Doris had, what? Fostered baby Wo Fat before she'd married John? The idea, the absurdity of it all almost had him laughing out loud. But the solemn, heartbroken expression on Steve's face made him choke it all down.

“For how long?” he asked quietly.

Steve shrugged. “Years. I don't know. I need to ask her.”

Danny blew out a deep breath, slowly and deliberately. “Wow. Okay. Wow,” he muttered. This was… insane. It explained a lot, though. “So that's why she— why she visited him in prison. Because she— Wow.” Danny found himself unable to really wrap his head around the idea.

Maybe it was all a lie or some kind of delusion Wo Fat's insane brain had cooked up over the years. “You believe him?” Danny asked.

“It makes sense,” Steve said. “Cobb said Doris disappeared after she killed Lei Quan Fat. It explains why Doris didn't kill Wo Fat when she had the chance. I guess she…” He hesitated. His shoulders twitched. “I guess she loved him like a son, too.”

Danny's heart ached at the resignation in Steve's voice. He reached over and took a hold of his uninjured hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

To his surprise, Steve squeezed back.

“You know,” he continued, “I get that she lied to me about killing his mother. I understand that. It was a CIA op, it was classified. She— I get that she couldn't tell me about that. But this?” He stared at the floor with unseeing eyes, shook his head in utter disbelieve and hurt.

“Maybe she was afraid that you'd blame her for the man he'd become,” Danny found himself saying. Defending Doris was the last thing he wanted to do. But this wasn't about that. It was about finding a logical explanation for why a mother would keep something like this from her own son. It was about easing the sting of her betrayal and lies. It was about protecting Steve.

“When you found her,” Danny continued, “Wo Fat had already killed your dad. Maybe she blamed herself for that.”

“She was afraid,” Steve said angrily. “She was afraid that someone would find out that she'd covered up the murder of an innocent woman. She did all this to protect herself. She doesn't care about anyone else. Not my dad, not Mary, not me. The only one she was ever honest with is Wo Fat. And maybe Joe.”

“You think he knew about this?” Danny asked.

“I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if he did.”

Danny blew out another breath. “Wow,” he said again, not sure which was worse. That Joe had possibly kept this from him all this time, too, or that Steve so readily expected to be lied to and betrayed by someone he was supposed to be able to trust.

“I want to tell her myself,” Steve said suddenly. The coldness in his voice startled Danny. “That I put a bullet in his head. I want to see her face when I tell her.”

“Steve,” Danny said softly. “She's your mother.” Somehow, in someway and in spite of everything, that still had to mean something.

But Steve just shook his head. “Not anymore,” he decided. “My dad died because of what she did. She's the reason why he sent me and Mary away. She's the reason why he had to spend the last twenty years of his life alone.”

Steve was practically vibrating with anger next to Danny.

“What she did back then has always haunted this family,” Steve continued, furious and hurt. “And why? Because she was too afraid to face the consequences for killing an innocent woman.”

“So what?” Danny asked. “You're looking to get even? Hurt her as much as she's hurt you? That's not gonna change anything.” He paused, gave Steve's hand another squeeze. “That's not gonna bring your dad back,” he added quietly. “There's nothing we can do to bring them back.”

Steve swallowed, nodded. “I know,” he said. Breathing more quickly, he bit his lip, head still bobbing up and down. “I know,” he repeated. “I—“

His breath hitched when he inhaled. The hand in Danny's squeezed hard. It felt like Steve was trying to hold on to something. Danny squeezed back. “I got you,” he whispered.

When Steve let the breath go, it came out with a shuddering sob.

Danny twisted his body, got his legs under him and stood up on his knees. Without disentangling his hands from Steve's, he wrapped both arms around him. Awkwardly, maybe, but he didn't care. He just needed to hold on. Steve's breath hitched again.

“It's okay,” Danny promised as he pulled Steve close to his chest. He didn't resist. “It's okay. I got you. I know— I know it's scary. I know it feels like it's too much. But it'll be okay. You can let go.” It was all Danny had to offer.

He sank down onto his heels when Steve finally gave in. His body shook, trembling in Danny's arms as he cried for his dad. Maybe for the loss of his mother, too.

“I'm right here and I got you,” Danny told him, over and over again, tears burning in his own eyes.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


The rest of the day had passed in a blur. It had taken a while for Steve to cry himself out but that hadn't surprise Danny. After all, Steve had a lot to deal with, a lot of pain. And he'd been holding it in for far too long. Exhausted and drowsy, Danny had barely managed to get him to drink the juice and eat half the oatmeal before Steve had crawled into the bed. He'd been asleep within seconds.

Feeling drained himself, Danny had resisted the urge to slip under the covers with him to hold him close while he slept. Instead he had dragged himself to the living room and laid down on the couch.

They hadn't talked much for the rest of the day. Steve had tried calling Joe a few more times but only ever got his voice mail.

Over dinner, Steve had announced that he wanted to go home the next day.

Danny had nodded. He thought it was still too soon, but wanted to respect Steve choice, wanted to have confidence in his strength. “Mind if I stay a few days?” Danny had asked.

Steve had considered the question for a moment. “Sure,” he'd then said.

It was late now. Danny was, once again, lying awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing there but Marco Reyes' dead eyes staring back at him. Tonight, those eyes left him wondering if maybe he was just as bad a parent as Doris McGarrett.

He startled when a floor board creaked down the hall.

Turning onto his side and pushing up on an elbow, Danny suddenly found Steve standing in the door to his bedroom, silhouetted by the soft gleam of light coming from Grace's room.

“Hey. You okay?” Danny asked when Steve just stood there, one hand holding on to the door frame. Danny couldn't make out his face in the darkness.

Steve was quiet for a beat. He didn't move, maybe didn't even breathe. “It mattered to me, too,” he then said into the silence.

Danny frowned, confused. “What?” he asked.

“The— the kiss. It mattered to me, too.”

Something ballooned inside Danny's chest, taking his breath away. “Oh,” was all he managed to get out.

Steve shrugged. “I just wanted you to know,” he said, sounding almost like it wasn't a big deal.

Danny swallowed. He found himself unable to move. “Steve,” he said quietly, “what does that mean?”

Steve shook his head. “I don't know.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny was still trying to figure out what it all meant when he called Kono the next morning.

The coffee was running far too slowly through the machine.

“I need a favor,” he said in way of greeting when she picked up.

“ _Shoot,”_ was her prompt response. 

“I got Grace this weekend. I need you to pick her up after school.”

Kono hesitated.  _“You think that's a good idea?”_

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“ _What if Steve— you know.”_ Freaks out again, in front of Grace. Kono didn't need to say it out loud, Danny got what she meant. 

“He won't,” he stated, because now that Steve had started to deal with the loss of his father, Danny was sure that there wouldn't be a repeat of his outburst. And even if something happened — because god knows, there was plenty of misery boiling just under the surface — Danny was sure he'd never hurt Grace.

Kono, however, didn't seemed to be convinced.  _“You sure?”_ she asked.

“Yes,” Danny told her firmly. “He's— he's doing better.” It was probably less than she deserved but all Danny could offer right now.

“ _Good,”_ she simply said.

“I'm actually taking him to his to his place so I need you to drop Grace off over there.”

“ _Are you guys staying there?”_

“Yeah,” Danny said and then amended, “At least I think so.” He hadn't mentioned anything about Grace yesterday. He knew his daughter was always welcome in Steve's house, but these were special circumstances. Steve had to be anxious about going back there.

“ _You think Steve's gonna be up for some company tomorrow?”_ Kono asked, pulling Danny's focus back to the conversation.

“I don't know.” Danny thought it was a great idea. To have friends over and maybe have dinner together. Fill the house with happiness and love. But he wasn't sure if that was what Steve wanted. Maybe he'd need some time alone. Deal with the fact that his dad had been violently murdered inside those walls.

“I'll let you know, okay,” Danny quickly added when Steve came into the kitchen. He didn't bother to wait for an answer from her or say goodbye before he ended the call.

“Hey,” he said to Steve, who was looking owlishly around the kitchen. Danny figured he'd just woken up.

Steve blinked a couple of times before he focussed on Danny. “Hey,” he answered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

A moment passed and they just stood there, looking at each other.

Danny suddenly remembered how to breathe. He held up his phone. “That was Kono,” he said stupidly.

The soft smile disappeared and Steve frowned. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Danny assured quickly. “I— She's picking up Grace from school.”

Steve cast his gaze down and started scratching at the healing abrasions on his left wrist. “You don't have to stay with me,” he said and then looked back up at Danny. “I'll be all right.”

“Hey, Grace will be thrilled to do a sleep-over at your place.”

“I'm not good company right now,” Steve argued. “Especially not for her.”

“Oh, don't worry, her standards aren't all that high,” Danny quipped. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to force the issue a little. If Steve couldn't handle having her in the house right now because the memories of what had happened there four years ago were overwhelmingly strong then Danny wouldn't bring her there. Doing anything else wouldn't be fair to either Steve or Grace. But Danny had the sneaking suspicion that Steve was hesitant about having Grace over because he didn't want her to see him hurt or sad or vulnerable in any way.

“We could make waffles for breakfast tomorrow,” Steve suddenly said, surprising Danny.

He couldn't help but grin at Steve. “Perfect,” he decided.

Steve's nod was a little hesitant. Danny sobered. “You sure you wanna go?” he asked.

Steve gave another nod, more determined this time. “Yeah,” he said. “I have to, I think.”

“All right.” Danny could accept that. It was, probably, the next step to take, to start healing.

“Sit down,” he then said, “I'm making breakfast.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny kept a hand on Steve's arm all the way from the car to the living room. They stopped there and Danny watched Steve as he stared at the spot where his father had been murdered all those years ago.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment.

Steve nodded. He let his gaze wander around the room. After a while, he shook his head. “I don't know what I expected,” he said quietly.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny went back to the car to get their bags. When he came back inside, Steve was gone. The doors to the lanai stood open, though, so Danny set down the bags and followed him out back.

He found Steve sitting in the sand by the water.

“You all right?” Danny asked as he plopped down next to him.

Steve just shrugged.

“Where's my dad's car?” he asked after a beat.

“It's still at the evidence garage. But they should be done with it by now.”

Steve sighed heavily. “How bad is it?” He sounded like he didn't really want to hear the answer.

“The driver side window was shattered. Couple of bullet holes in the windshield,” Danny recounted what he remembered. He decided to not mention the blood. There hadn't been much and it would hopefully come off easily.

Steve dropped his head at the news.

“Hey, could have been much worse. You'll have that piece of junk fixed up in no time,” Danny added, bumping his shoulder against Steve. He knew how much that stupid old car meant to him, how important is was to him, especially now.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, unconvinced.

He stared back out to the ocean in front of them. “I miss this view,” he all but whispered into the soft breeze.

Danny frowned. Steve had this view every day. Woke up to it, often spent the first hour of the day out here. How could he miss it?

“Can I get you anything?” Danny asked, deciding to let it go.

“No.” Steve turned his head to look at him. “Just— stay for a bit, all right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Danny smiled as he nodded.

They sat in silence for a while, both watching the sparkling, calm water. Danny dipped his fingers into the warm sand by his side, grabbed a hand full and let it slowly trickle back down.

“Thank you, for staying here,” Steve said next to him. “For letting Grace stay,” he amended.

Danny thought it should be him thanking Steve for letting them stay. For trusting them enough to be with him when he wasn't at his best. For sharing his life with them like this.

“Ever since my— since Doris faked her death, this house has been just… a house,” Steve continued, his voice thick with emotion. “When you and Grace are here…” He paused, exhaled a shaky breath. “It feels like a home again. I'd forgotten what that feels like for a really long time. So…” He turned to look at Danny again, swallowing hard. He smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

Danny could only stare into Steve's eyes. There was so much sadness there, so much pain and loneliness. But at the same time, he saw hope, just a tiny little bit. It was overwhelming and confusing. Because the way Steve was looking at him, Danny felt like he was right there at the center of that hope. He didn't dare blink, afraid that small glimmer would disappear if he did.

This wasn't enough. Danny needed to touch, hold on, needed them both to feel that it was real.

Slowly but deliberately, he reached out with one hand to cup Steve's jaw, mindful of lingering bruises hidden under days of stubble. He stroked a thumb over the unblemished skin on his right cheek, wondering what he could say to make sure that flicker of hope stayed there, grew bigger.

The hand that curled into his hair surprised Danny, sending electric sparks through his entire body.

And then Steve leaned in. Danny closed his eyes, stopped thinking and craned his neck to meet him halfway.

Stubble prickled against his palm as Steve canted his head just right. A warm exhale ghosted over his parted lips before they brushed against Steve's, soft and gentle and fleeting. The line of sutures in Steve's lower lip felt raw and wrong against Danny's mouth. He pulled away, just an inch.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, letting his fingertips brush against the skin below the small wound.

“It doesn't matter,” Steve whispered with desperate urgency. Danny felt the hand in the hair at the back of his head twist, pulling him in again.

He didn't resist, went easily, willingly, as Steve pressed his parted lips against his open mouth again; more firmly this time.

Dropping the hand from Steve's jaw to his chest, curling his fingers into the fabric by the neckline, gripping tightly, Danny angled his head. He let Steve's tongue slip into his mouth, sliding, pressing perfectly against his own. The kiss felt slow and fast at the same time, calm and impatient, endless and over far too soon.

When Steve drew back, breathless, Danny held on. He leaned in again to lightly kiss the corner of his mouth, nudging his nose against Steve's.

“Kono and Grace will be here soon,” he whispered.

Pulling away a little, he met Steve's gaze. “We're gonna have to talk about this,” Danny added seriously.

Steve gave an infinitesimal nod. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know.”

  
  


**to be continued…**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be able to post again before Wednesday (I know, horrible timing). Sorry in advance for that!


	20. Chapter 20

##  **Someday**

Chapter 20

  
  


Danny stood waiting in the front door when Kono's car pulled up in the driveway. Steve had told him to go ahead. They'd been kissing, careful and slow, exploring, getting to know each other all over again, when Danny's phone had chimed with Grace's ringtone. She'd sent a text to let him know she and Kono would be there in a couple minutes. Danny appreciated the warning.

He watched Grace climb out of the car, her face lighting up with a bright smile when she saw him. Pulling her backpack out of the leg room, she slung it over a shoulder and then quickly darted over to him.

“Hey, Monkey,” Danny said as he pulled his little girl into a hug. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” she said and let him drop a quick kiss to her hair.

“You sure you're okay to stay here,” Danny asked when she pulled away a little. He had told Grace Steve got hurt when he'd still been in the hospital. She knew he looked bad but was going to be all right soon. But Steve's decision to go back to his house had come somewhat spontaneously last night. Danny had asked Grace on the phone if she wanted to come. He didn't expect her to have changed her mind but still needed to make sure she was really okay with the situation.

Grace nodded enthusiastically. “Where's Steve?” she asked.

“I think he's out back,” Danny told her, smiling at her impatience to see Steve. He looked up and shot Kono a grateful look as she walked up to them. “Thanks for picking her up.”

She just smiled dimply back at him. “My pleasure, brah.”

Grace suddenly made a small, excited squeaky sound.

“Uncle Steve!”

Danny turned as Grace already rushed over to him. Steve stood by the lounge chair, hip resting against it for subtle support and Danny couldn't help but think that maybe all the kissing had left him dizzy again.

“Hey, kiddo,” Steve said and bent down a little to allow Grace to give him a proper hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

“Are you okay?” she asked when she let go eventually, studying him for a moment, taking in the large bruise on the side of his face that looked like it spilled out from the bulky bandage covering the bullet graze.

Steve gave her a reassuring smile and ran a hand over the top of her head. “I'll be fine,” he promised.

Danny cleared his throat. Time to break up this endearing exchange before that ball of fond fuzziness in his belly grew any bigger and made him explode. “Grace,” he said, only barely managing to draw her attention away from Steve. “Bring your stuff upstairs, okay.”

She blew out a breath, shot — for whatever reason — an apologetic look in Steve's direction and then turned to head upstairs.

Only when she'd disappeared into Mary's old room, Steve seemed to notice Kono.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly, obviously embarrassed about how their last encounter had ended.

Kono, much to Danny's satisfaction, simply rolled her eyes at the idiot. She crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him.

Steve hugged her back. “I'm sorry about the other day,” he said quietly, closing his eyes briefly.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Kono assured him. Pulling back a little, she, too, studied him for a moment. “You look better,” she decided. Objectively, it was a blatant lie. Steve looked horrible, even worse since the bruises on his face had darkened to a deep bluish purple. But still, Danny had to agree. Maybe it was the soft, fading flush of color the kissing had put into his cheeks.

“All right,” Kono said, laughing lightly and letting go of Steve, “I'm outta here.”

As she turned and walked by Danny, she gave him the strangest, squinty-eyed look.

Danny shut the door behind her maybe a bit too loudly.

Two seconds later, Grace came bounding down the stairs.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Grace was already curled up in Mary's bed with the Harry Potter book Danny had brought for her from home when he came into the room to say good night. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, making the old wooden frame creak loudly, Danny ran a gentle hand over her hair.

“You gonna be all right here, Monkey?” he asked.

Grace managed to tear her attention away from the book to roll her eyes at him. “I've slept here before,” she reminded him.

Danny smiled. “I know.”

“And I like it here,” she added.

“Yeah?” Danny asked, a hopeful flutter thrumming inside his chest.

“Yeah,” Grace huffed out in confirmation, clearly impatient to get back to her book.

Danny sighed, leaned over for a good night kiss and then stood.

“Don't stay up too late, all right?”

All he got in response was a soft hum.

Making his way back downstairs, Danny found Steve dozing in the lounge chair. The TV was still running but had been muted, the remote hung loosely in his fingers, about to drop to the floor. Danny tugged it out of his hand, turned off the TV and threw it onto the couch. Then he settled on an armrest, facing Steve. He took a moment to study him. He wanted to kiss the long lashes, the cuts and bruises, the strong, stubbly jaw and the lingering dark smudges under his eyes. He wanted to smooth away the lines of pain and worry, nibble at his lips, taste and map every inch of skin with his tongue.

Steadying himself with a hand on the backrest, Danny leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against Steve's forehead.

Pale blue eyes opened sluggishly.

“Hey,” Danny said softly.

Steve blinked sleepily before his eyes locked with Danny's.

“You should go to bed,” Danny suggested. He slid off the armrest and stood in front of Steve, holding out both hands to him. “Come on.”

Steve accepted the help without a moment's hesitation. Careful of the bandaged right hand, Danny pulled him up and steadied him when he swayed a little.

Standing there, Danny realized all over again just how tall Steve was.

Steve didn't let go of his hands. “We wanted to talk,” he said, dropping his forehead down to Danny's, eyes closing.

Danny gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “It can wait.”

Steve huffed out an unsatisfied breath at that. He angled his head, bumped his nose against Danny's. “Come upstairs with me.”

Danny licked his lips. He'd been planning to sleep on the couch, like he always did.

“Steve,” he simply said, not sure what the invitation upstairs was supposed to mean. All he knew was that they needed to take it slow. And not just because Steve was recovering from a concussion or because Grace would be right in the next room.

“Please,” Steve whispered. “I don't want to be alone,” he added, so quietly that Danny almost didn't hear it.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


They were lying next to each other in Steve's bed, on their backs on top of the covers, shoulder to shoulder. A soft breeze of wind blew in through the opened window, gusting over Danny's skin. The only sound between them was their breathing and the quiet, distant splash of the ocean.

Danny felt like he should say something. He was, after all, the one who'd said they needed to talk. And Steve seemed wide awake again. There was no real reason to delay the conversation they needed to have any longer. And the sooner they talked, the sooner Danny would know that this was… real.

“So,” he said.

“So,” Steve echoed.

Danny didn't know what else to say. Shouldn't this be easier? They'd known each other for over four years and Danny could always think of _something_ to say. Why was this so awkward and hard when—

“Why now?” Steve suddenly asked, interrupting Danny's frustrated thoughts. “I mean, how long have you—“ He cut himself off, finishing the question by swirling his hand through the air.

Danny shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. He really didn't. This whole thing, it had kind of snuck up on him. But thinking about it, he figured that maybe he'd had feelings for Steve that exceeded friendship for longer than he'd realized. “It's hard to say. I can't— I don't think I can narrow it down to a specific moment. But— definitely not just since yesterday.” Staring at the ceiling, he sighed, hoping it was enough of an explanation.

“You?” he then asked.

Steve was still next to him. “Don't know,” he said curtly, his voice oddly tight.

Danny rolled his head on the pillow to look at his profile. “Steve,” he said carefully, not sure how to interpret his pinched expression on his face. “If you don't feel—“ The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat. He sighed, swallowing it down, remembering Steve saying only weeks ago that he loved Catherine. His words from just a few minutes ago echoed in Danny's head. He'd said that he didn't want to be alone. A brick of ice suddenly settled inside Danny's stomach. Maybe that was all this was; fear of being alone, abandoned once again.

Maybe Steve was only afraid that if he didn't reciprocate Danny's feelings, he would leave him, too.

Danny exhaled a shaky breath, averting his gaze back to the ceiling. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted. This was going to ruin their friendship.

“It's okay,” he said. “You don't have to… If you don't…” Somehow, Danny still couldn't bring himself to say it; the thought alone was too painful.

“I'll be here no matter what,” he promised instead. “It doesn't matter if you don't— Me and Gracie, we're not going anywhere.”

“Four years, ten days.” Steve's voice was low, raspy.

Danny froze.

“What?” he whispered. It came out desperate and hopeful.

“That's how long,” Steve said. “Give or take.”

The ice melted, but not completely.

“What about Catherine?” Danny had to ask. “You said you love her.”

Steve sighed. “I do,” he confirmed. “But it's different with her.”

“Different?” Danny didn't know what to make of that. Different how? Different why?

“It's— It's hard to explain.”

“I think I'm gonna need you to try,” Danny said, desperation creeping back into the tone of his voice. How could he love her and still… for over four years…

“It's—“ Steve hesitated and huffed out a frustrated breath, searching for words to explain. “Different,” he said again. Danny was just about to open his mouth and tell him that it wasn't going to be enough when Steve spoke again.

“With her, it's about what I know. She's a part of the life I had before I came back here but… I don't think I'm that person anymore. The Navy means a lot to me. It's given me a place where I belong when I—“ He stopped abruptly. Danny didn't need him to finish the thought.

“Catherine— In a way, she's a part of that,” Steve added quietly.

“With you, though,” he continued after a beat and then sighed. Danny wondered how that single sound could make him feel so appreciated and cherished and loved. “With you it's— it's about what I _want_. I can barely remember being part of a real family. I have some memories from before my mom— But they're vague and… fading. I do remember the warmth and feeling safe. I— That's how I feel around you. And Grace.”

Danny's chest tightened, he couldn't draw in a full breath.

“It feels like… home,” Steve continued. “I want that. And…” He paused, slowly blew out a breath. “With you it feels like I'm allowed to want that. That it's not too much to ask.”

Danny felt like he should say something but Steve's words had him reeling, wondering what exactly it was that he'd done to make Steve feel this way about him, just so that he could do it over and over again. Because more than anything, Steve deserved to be happy.

With an ache in his heart, Danny suddenly realized how long a time four years was.

“So, all this time you—“

“I wasn't pining for you or anything,” Steve cut him off. The soft chuckle in his voice surprised Danny. “I was happy to have you as my friend. At first, I didn't know what it was about you. It was just that I— I suddenly felt like I had arrived somewhere. But I didn't want feel that way about you or… this place. I had already lost a family here. I was afraid of losing it all again.”

Danny figured he still was, but didn't say anything.

“I wasn't ready. Being back here, with everything that was going on… it was comforting to know that the Navy was always going to be there, that I could always go back. Having Catherine around was like a reminder, like keeping a part of that life with me, just in case. It felt safe.”

“What if Catherine comes back?”

Danny hated himself for even asking the question. But he couldn't not do it. He had to know. Because Steve had said he still loved Catherine. And even after everything Steve had just told him, after opening up to him like that… Danny still _had_ to ask.

“Are you sure you can let go of… all that?” He wasn't even sure what he meant, what he was asking. He wasn't asking Steve to quit the Navy, to give up on his career. But he just couldn't find a better way to put it. All he wanted was to know if Steve was really ready choose what he wanted.

“It's okay if—“ Danny started to add but could bring himself to finish the sentence. “Just be honest with me, okay?” he asked instead.

“It doesn't really matter,” Steve said. “She told me not to wait for her.”

Danny sighed, desperate. “That's not what I meant.”

The mattress dipped as Steve shifted. Danny turned his head to see him roll onto his side. “I love her,” he said, reaching over to take Danny's hand in his. “I don't know when it happened but—” He paused, frowned as he searched for the right words. “I feel like I've outgrown that life. And that changes the way I love her. And it changes the way I love you.”

Steve interwove their fingers. “I want a home. I want to be with you,” he said. “I choose you. That's all I can give you.”

And somehow, that was enough. It was more than enough.

“Okay,” Danny said.

Steve raised his eyebrows, hopeful. “Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Danny pushed himself up on an elbow as he shifted closer to Steve. Steve rolled onto his back when Danny leaned over him, craned his neck a little when Danny bent low to kiss him, gentle and careful.

“Okay,” Danny repeated.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny was surprised to wake up to a room bright with sunlight. He blinked his eyes and smiled. It had only been a few weeks since Colombia. But he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't startled awake from a nightmare long before dawn, unable to go back to sleep. Some nights, he barely slept at all. Maybe this sudden change had something to do with the warmth to his right, the head resting just against his shoulder.

Danny tried not to move too much as he turned ever so slightly to look over to where Steve still slept, curled up on his side, breathing slowly and evenly.

Resisting the urge to kiss him awake, Danny lifted the covers on his side and carefully slipped out of the bed after realizing it hadn't been the sunlight that had woken him. He really needed to pee. He quickly relieved himself in the en-suite bathroom and was about to snuggle back into bed with Steve when he suddenly remembered Grace.

What was he supposed to tell her if she came downstairs and found the couch empty?

Danny stood there for a moment, in the middle of the bedroom as he tried to come up with an answer. But all his brain seemed to be able to focus on right now was that he wasn't standing in just any bedroom. He was standing in Steve's bedroom, had just crawled out of Steve's bed. The bed where Steve slept on peacefully. Danny figured that maybe he didn't really need an explanation for Grace because he wasn't absolutely sure that any of this was even real.

A distant bump, coming from downstairs, startled Danny.

He realized that he had no clue what time it actually was. Grace could have been up for hours already.

He tip-toed quietly out of the bedroom and listened at the top of the stairs. The house was quiet again. He went to check Mary's room. The door stood ajar, just as he'd left it last night. But when he peeked inside the room, he found it empty.

Shit.

He patted himself down as he hurried downstairs, checking that he was indeed dressed in t-shirt and shorts — which was stupid and unnecessary because he and Steve had done nothing more exciting than share a few kisses last night before Steve had yawned and fallen asleep underneath him. Warm and solid and alive and—

“Hey, Monkey,” Danny blurted as he entered the kitchen where she sat on a counter with her book. He gulped. “You're up early.”

She looked up at him and waved a hand at the clock hanging from the wall. “It's almost nine thirty,” she informed him with a raised eyebrow, clearly judging him. Then she pursed her lips. Danny was eerily reminded of Rachel by the appraising expression.

“Where did you sleep last night?” Grace asked.

_Ha!_ Danny mocked his Steve-focussed brain. An explanation would come in handy right about now. “I, uhm… I stayed with Steve, actually,” he said, aiming for super casual but missing by a mile. Grace looked at him with a dubious expression on her face, so Danny freaked and amended, “You know, because of the head injury. The doctor told me to keep a close eye on him.”

He winced. It wasn't technically a lie, though. He really was supposed to keep an eye on Steve.

Grace sighed, her shoulders slumped a little. “Is he gonna be okay?” she asked, big eyes full of concern. “He looks really bad.”

“I know but, I promise you, it looks worse than it really is,” Danny tried to reassure her. “He'll be fine in no time.”

Grace didn't look too convinced.

“Come on, let's look for that waffle iron, okay,” he suggested, holding out a hand to her to help her slide safely off the counter. “We'll make him a big, fantastic breakfast.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Steve came into the kitchen about half an hour later. He was a little bleary-eyed but looked otherwise well rested.

Danny couldn't help but smile brightly at him. “Hey, good morning,” he greeted.

Drowsily, Steve shuffled his way over to where Danny stood next to the hot waffle iron. “Hey,” he echoed, smiling lazily back at him and crowding into his space. He was about to lean in for a good morning kiss and Danny was about to think that he could easily get used to this, when Steve froze abruptly, aborting the movement. Suddenly much more awake, he turned his head left and right to look around the kitchen. “Where's Grace?” he asked.

“She uhm, she got bored,” Danny said, indicating the cooling stack of waffles with a nod of his head. “She's out back,” he added, hoping they could get back to the kissing part.

But Steve just stood there. “Are we—“ He frowned, cocked his head to the side. “Should we tell her?”

“About… us?” Danny tried to clarify. His heart fluttered. Because now there was an _us_.

Steve scratched the mussed up hair at the back of his head. “Yeah.” He shrugged.

“I don't—“ Danny started to say before he started to think. He clamped his mouth shut for a moment. He hadn't really thought about telling her. Or anyone, for that matter. There hadn't really been any time for it, yet. And maybe that was just the thing. Maybe they should give it a few days, a week or two, or something. “Maybe we should wait, like— I mean, I don't— I want her to—“

“Hey, hey,” Steve cut him off. “It's okay. We don't have to rush anything.”

Danny blew out a breath, glad Steve understood. “I know. I just don't want you to think that I'm not sure about this or anything.”

Steve shook his head. “I don't think that.”

“Good,” Danny decided, smiling up at him again. “You think you're up for some waffles?” he then asked and quickly pulled the crispy, dark brown disk from the iron. He added the almost burned waffle to the stack. “I tried to go easy on the butter,” he explained as he turned back to face Steve. “The doc said to avoid fats, so—“

Steve shut Danny up by smacking a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Perplexed, he stood there and stared after Steve as he left the kitchen, calling, “I'll go get Grace,” over his shoulder as he went.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


They had breakfast at the dining room table for a change, because in this house, they usually ate in the living room. Uncle Steve's house was where you didn't have to eat at the table. But Danny figured that things would maybe have to start to change now. Because, from now on, he and Grace would maybe spend a lot more of their weekends here. Maybe all of their weekends. Or Steve would come over to Danny's house and stay with them. Though Steve's house did have its perks, with the ocean right outside the door and the waffle iron and Grace even had her own room here. Which, technically, was still Mary's room but she rarely came to visit. Grace, however, had a room at Danny's house, too. Her own room. And her life was already spread out over two rooms as it was. Adding a third was probably—

“Don't you like the waffles?” Grace's voice suddenly interrupted Danny's quickly derailing train of thought. She was eyeing Steve's plate suspiciously and justifiably so, Danny realized. Steve had barely nibbled his way through half a dry waffle. He hadn't even touched the syrup.

“I love 'em but…” Steve paused and sighed. It sounded almost apologetic. “My stomach still gets a little queasy sometimes,” he admitted a little sheepishly. Danny figured it was probably a lot queasy right now.

Grace bent over to peer into his mug. “Do you want more tea?” she asked when she found it empty. She didn't wait for an answer before she started sliding off her chair.

“That'd be great.” Steve handed her the mug.

As soon as Grace had disappeared around the corner, Danny leaned in a little to put a hand on Steve's knee. He gave it a light squeeze. “You want some meds with that tea?” he asked.

Steve shook his head. “I'm fine,” he said but still dropped his fork onto the plate in defeat.

Danny wanted to call him on the lie but Grace chose that moment to peek her head around the corner and ask, “Is everyone coming over tonight?”

Danny flinched and abruptly pulled his hand from Steve's knee, smacking it hard against the underside of the table with a resounding 'bang' in the process.

“Kono said something yesterday,” Grace added, seemingly oblivious.

Danny pulled the throbbing hand to his chest and tried to keep a straight face as his eyes started to water just a little because he must have broken at least three bones just now. “If Steve's feeling up to it,” he ground out and tried to pass a pained grimace off as a smile.

Next to him, Steve was grinning like the stupid idiot that he was. “Sure.”

Grace clapped her hands together excitedly. “Are we having a barbeque?” she asked.

“Okay,” Steve said, matching Grace's enthusiasm, the prospect of grilling meat over open fire warming his little neanderthal heart.

Danny shot him a look because, a, concussed people should not be anywhere near open fire and, b, he hadn't even been able to finish a single waffle. How'd he figure trying to eat a steak would go?

Steve got the message (or at least half of it) loud and clear and raised his hands placatingly. “Hey, we'll let Lou handle the grill,” he conceded.

Danny was about to verbally point out the fact that steak and concussion stomach didn't mix well, but Grace cut him off.

“I'm a vegetarian,” she announced.

“What?” Danny gaped at her.

“I don't eat meat from animals,” Grace explained matter of factly.

“No, babe, I know what a vegetarian is. What… why… when…” He decided to settle on that one. “When did this happen?”

She heaved a reminiscent sigh. “Thursday in biology.”

Danny narrowed his eyes at her. “What happened Thursday in biology?”

“The teacher showed us a dead animal,” she said, disgusted.

The electric kettle in the kitchen made a loud 'plop' and the distant sound of boiling, bubbling water died down. Grace disappeared back into the kitchen.

Danny flexed his still throbbing hand. “Why does my lovely ex-wife insist on sending her to a private school that not only costs a fortune but also, apparently, seems hellbent on traumatizing my child?” he asked the world at large but mostly Steve.

He just lifted and dropped his shoulders.

“Hey.” Danny stabbed an index finger in his direction. “You don't get to just shrug your way out of this.”

“She decided to be a vegetarian, Danny,” Steve said in that tone — that 'you freaking out over this is an unreasonable overreaction' tone. “It's not the end of the world.”

Danny huffed. “That's not the point.”

“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to call the school, have them fire the teacher?”

“What? No!” Danny all but yelled. Because Steve would. “Are you insane?”

Steve spread his hands wide. “I don't—“ He cut himself off with a sigh and leaned over the table toward Danny. And before Danny knew what was happening, Steve had one of his big paws wrapped around the back of his head and was pulling him in. The kiss he pressed to Danny's mouth was just as sloppy as the one in the kitchen earlier.

Steve let go just as quickly as he'd attacked and leaned back in his chair with a big, smug grin on his face.

“That's not always gonna work, you know,” Danny hissed at him as Grace came back into the room. Thankfully, her focus was completely on the steaming hot mug of tea in her hands.

Steve disagreed by widening his grin.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	21. Chapter 21

##  **Someday**

Chapter 21

  
  


It was a little after noon when Danny finally finished scrubbing the ancient waffle iron and remembered that he should probably let the others know they were expected to show up at Steve's house for a barbeque tonight.

Kono answered the call on the second ring. He informed her of their plans and told her about Grace's newfound vegetarianism and Steve's queasy stomach — both of which made the barbeque seem like a stupid idea in hindsight. But plans were plans and Danny just knew Steve (and probably everyone else) would be disappointed if he decided to serve vegetable soup with crackers instead.

He was about to end the call when Kono asked, _“So, how are things going over there?”_

“Good. We're good,” Danny said casually. Kono didn't need to know just how good they were.

“ _Hmm,”_ she hummed thoughtfully. _“I don't know. I got a strange vibe from you guys when I dropped Grace off.”_

God, she was just too perceptive. “We're fine,” Danny said and maybe it came out a little too emphatically to actually be convincing. “There was no vibe,” he added.

“ _Come on,”_ she drawled, _“you can tell me.”_

“There's nothing to tell,” he lied. Because, okay, the rest of the team probably had somewhat of a vested interest in knowing that the boss and Danny were… whatever they wanted to call it. But Danny figured telling them was something he and Steve should do together or at least discuss first — especially considering they both weren't exactly known as anything but a couple of straight guys.

The thought made Danny wonder if Steve had always been bi or if being attracted to another man was something new for him as well.

God, they had so, so much to talk about before they were ready to tell anyone else about them.

“— _you five seconds to answer my question or I'm gonna assume you had a stroke and I'll call an ambulance.”_

“Relax, all right. I'm still here,” Danny told her, rolling his eyes as much at her as at himself for going off on a mental tangent like that.

“ _You're hiding something,”_ she said, suspicious.

“Well, I'm not telling you anything so I'm hanging up now.” He disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto a counter like it was infectious.

Giving the kitchen a last, cursory glance, Danny decided everything was shipshape, up to Navy standards, and headed out to the living room where Grace and Steve had been watching TV earlier.

The room, however, was now empty. Looking around, he finally spotted Grace on the lanai.

“Where's Steve?” he asked, popping his head through the double doors, squinting against the bright sunlight.

“He went upstairs for a nap,” Grace informed him. Danny suddenly noticed that his daughter had her sunglasses on, was wearing shorts and a bikini top and held a tube of sunscreen in one hand.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you doing?”

She gestured at a book on the table. “I was gonna read.”

Danny glanced at the book. It wasn't Harry Potter. “What are you reading?”

Grace picked up the book and held it up for him to see better. “It's about being a vegetarian,” she explained.

Danny pushed the book aside to give her a stern look. “No direct sunlight,” he said and pointed a warning finger at her.

Grace rolled her eyes at him. “I know, Danno.”

But Danny was no fool. He'd spotted the towel she had already laid out in the middle of the lawn. Direct sunlight had definitely been on her agenda.

“It'll not only give you skin cancer but reading in the sun is not good for your eyes either,” he told her for the umpteenth time since moving to this island. “Besides, if you scrunch up your face all the time — because the sun is too bright and makes you squint — you'll get so many wrinkles on your face you'll end up looking like great-grandma Gladys before you're twenty-five. You want that?”

Grace huffed out a sigh. “I'll stay in the shade, I promise,” she lamented.

“Good,” Danny said, satisfied. “I'm gonna go check on Steve.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Upstairs, Danny knocked softly on the door before he pushed it open wide enough to see the bed and its occupant. “Hey, you sleeping?” he whispered into the room. Steve was lying on his side, facing the door. His eyes were hooded but open. He was clearly awake.

The sunlight spilling into the room was muted by drawn curtains. They were dancing lazily in the gentle breeze blowing in through the opened windows. Danny squeezed into the room and shut the door behind himself. He padded over to the bed to sit down on the edge next to Steve.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, reaching out a hand to trail his fingers through the hair above Steve's ear. Steve closed his eyes under the gentle ministrations. Danny didn't need to look at the water glass and pill bottle on the nightstand to know that he had a headache. “You want me to cancel dinner?” he offered.

“I'm fine,” Steve claimed predictably. He sighed. “Just thought I'd get some rest before everyone gets here.”

Danny accepted that. He could imagine how much Steve was looking forward to tonight. It had been days since he'd seen the rest of the team. “They'll be happy to see you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“What?” Danny teased. “You getting sick of me already?”

Steve smiled lazily. “Maybe a little.”

He opened his eyes again and looked up at Danny to study him for a long moment. The smile faded from his lips. “Are you okay, Danno?” he asked.

Danny wanted to smooth the concerned crease of his brows away with his fingers. He had to force the reassuring smile. “Never better,” he answered. It wasn't too much of an exaggeration. He hadn't thought much about Reyes the past couple days. Sometimes, he even managed to forget for a little while. Though he wasn't sure it was necessarily a good thing.

Steve's frown darkened. “I'm serious,” he insisted.

Danny let his fingertips trace the edge of the bruise that reached down to Steve's cheek. It was still dark and showed no signs of fading. Against Steve's unnaturally pale skin, it stood out like a warning sign. The bruises, the burns, the invisible hurts. They all would take some time to heal. Steve didn't need to borrow trouble, he had enough pain to deal with. So Danny shook his head. “Don't worry about me,” he whispered.

Steve reached up and wrapped his hand around Danny's, pulling it away from his face. “Not how this works,” he said stubbornly.

And yeah, he was probably right about that. Danny knew they needed to be open and honest with each other if this thing between them was supposed to last. That included sharing their problems and pain. Danny wanted Steve to talk to him about his dad and Doris and Wo Fat and Freddy and Jenna and the Taliban and everything else. So that he could help him deal with it all, leave it behind and be happy. But he could only ask Steve to do that if he was willing to do the same. It had to be a two-way street. It was the only way they were going to work.

“I've been thinking about seeing Dr. Palmer,” Danny admitted. When Steve just looked at him, he added, “The HPD grief counselor.”

Steve exhaled a sympathetic sigh. He squeezed Danny's hand in his, pulled it to his chest.

Danny could feel him breathe.

“Is this about Matt or Reyes?” Steve asked.

“I don't think you can really separate the two,” Danny said, shrugging. “But it's more about Reyes, I guess.” At Steve's questioning frown, Danny added, “I talked to Chin. About Delano.”

“Danny,” Steve started to say. He huffed, frustrated, and started to push himself up into a sitting position. “Reyes… He would have come after you if you hadn't stopped him.”

The words sent a surge of anger through Danny. “You don't know that,” he argued. They'd given Reyes his money back, he'd gotten what he'd wanted. There hadn't been a reason for him to do something as stupid as killing a cop.

“Reyes was a threat,” Steve insisted… but his words didn't make sense. Reyes had been alone and unarmed.

“Not when I shot him,” Danny said. “I went back in there to kill him and— and—”

— _and you didn't stop me,_ a voice at the back of Danny's head added.

He didn't want to think that way again. Steve hadn't made him pull the trigger. He'd done so much to help and Danny knew he wouldn't even have managed to get to Colombia without him. And even if he had… He sure as hell would be rotting in that basement along with his brother if it weren't for Steve. Grace would have to grow up without her father…

But for some reason, some inexplicable, irrational reason, Danny just couldn't help but feel like Steve had let him down. Steve should have stopped him. They were partners and he was supposed to have Danny's back. But he'd just stood there and let him make the biggest mistake of his life. And why? Because he thought it was the right thing to do? To murder someone… an eye for an eye?

Was that who Steve really was?

“Hey, hey.” Steve's hand squeezed Danny's, the other came up to curl around his neck. Danny almost flinched away from the touch.

“This— this isn't something you can fix, okay,” he said, pulling his hand from Steve's firm hold. “I need to figure out how to live with it and I think— I'm hoping, actually, that Dr. Palmer can help me with that.”

“Anything I can do?” Steve asked.

_Too late to do anything now_ , the voice in Danny's head whispered. He cast his gaze down to the mattress, unable to meet Steve's eyes.

“I'll let you know,” he said, wrapping a hand around Steve's arm to pull his hand away from where it was still cradling his neck. “Sleep, okay. Don't worry about me right now.” Danny stood as soon as Steve let go. He just needed to get out of this room, out of this situation. “I gotta go. I—“ He made a vague gesture toward the window. “Grace is probably out in the sun.”

“Danny—“

He was out the door and halfway down the stairs by the time he realized he'd stopped breathing.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“Hello, anyone here?”

That was Chin's voice calling from out back.

Good. Danny breathed out a sigh of relief. They were finally here.

He felt a little ambivalent about leave Grace alone in the kitchen while handling knives but he was just so, so glad Chin (and hopefully the rest of the team) where here that he threw caution straight into the wind. Steve had yet to come downstairs from his nap. Which was a good thing, because Danny still needed to figure out a way to deal with… him. He just couldn't understand why Steve kept insisting that shooting Reyes hadn't been wrong, that it had been necessary. And he couldn't help but think that if this was really the way Steve felt the situation then… maybe he didn't know him as well as he thought he did.

“There you are!” Kono smiled bright and dimply as Danny came through the doors to the lanai.

“Hey, guys.”

Setting the cooler he was carrying down, Chin stepped forward and wrapped Danny into a big hug. “Good to see you, brah,” he said when he let go.

“Where is everyone?” Kono asked, looking around impatiently.

“Grace, uhm— Grace is in the kitchen,” Danny said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction. “She's making a salad. Steve is upstairs, taking a nap.”

“How's he doing?” Chin asked.

Danny blew out a breath. “Better, I think,” he said with a shrug. Kono shot him a strange look.

“Hey, where's the rest?” Danny asked, changing the subject. It was a valid question. At least Lou should be here. Maybe Max, too.

“Lou said he'd stop by the evidence garage on his way and pick up the Marquis,” Chin said.

“Oh… that's— that's nice. Steve's been asking about it.”

“Max already had plans,” Kono added.

Wonderful. Danny clapped his hands together, deciding it was time to get this show on the road because he was getting a little hungry and keeping everyone and himself busy seemed like a good way to stop himself from thinking and them from asking more questions.

“Okay. All right. You wanna fire up the grill?” Danny asked, pointing a finger at Chin. “I'm gonna go let Steve know you guys are here.” Or maybe he would send Grace up to get him. Which was a stupid idea. It wasn't like he could really avoid Steve, at least not as long as he was staying in his house. And he didn't even _want_ to avoid him. He just… maybe needed some time to work out this whole mess inside his head.

“Hey, let him sleep,” Chin said.

“If I don't wake him now I won't get him to sleep tonight, so—“

“I'm not an infant, Danny.”

Danny flinched at the sound of Steve's voice coming from behind him.

He turned and looked at him without meeting his gaze. “What do you know about babies?”

Steve shrugged in a 'what's there to know' kind of way. “They sleep a lot.”

“Hey,” Chin cut in, probably sensing an argument in their future. “Good to see you up, man.”

“Yes, but now it's time to sit down,” Danny told Steve before he got any stupid ideas about the grill. “I'll get you your juice.”

Steve rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

“I'll start the fire,” Chin offered.

Kono added, “I'll set up the table.”

“Perfect,” Danny decided.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Taking the leftovers to the kitchen had been a good enough excuse to get away from the table yet again. Pretending everything was fine turned out to be a draining, exhausting exercise. It was hard to engage in conversation and laugh with everyone else when he couldn't even look at Steve, when his mind kept asking _why_.

Danny closed the refrigerator with a drawn out sigh and then froze when he found Kono standing in the door to the kitchen, a stack of empty plates in her arms.

“Hey,” she said, setting the dishes down. She had that strange look in her eyes again.

Leaning a hip against the next available counter, she grabbed a piece of leftover bread and tore off a small piece, popping it into her mouth. “Everything okay?” she asked, still chewing.

Danny considered letting her know that she was being a little transparent. She had obviously come in here with an agenda. If she had something to say to him she should just say it, even though Danny was pretty sure he didn't want to hear it.

“Yeah, why wouldn't it be?” he said, annoyed by the question and by his own unconvincing response.

He didn't want to provoke any more uncomfortable questions about the way he'd been acting. And he knew there would be questions because he'd barely said a word to Steve all night. He'd focussed on Grace more than usually. He'd used every possible excuse to get away from the table because he just couldn't stand being around him. He couldn't stand not being able to look him in the eye because he was afraid he wouldn't see the person there he'd thought he knew. He was afraid to find some stranger looking back at him. Someone cold, someone heartless. Someone who thought killing a defenseless man was the right thing to do.

Kono pursed her lips at him. “You seem a little…” She made a swirly gesture with both her hands. “…more irritable than usual. You can kick us out, you know. I actually gave you a pretty good opening about twenty minutes ago, in case you missed that.”

No, Danny hadn't missed that. The neighbors probably hadn't missed her complaining about imaginary mosquitos and Adam begging her via text messages to come home already. But Danny didn't want to call it a night. He didn't want Grace to go to bed and everybody else to go home because he didn't want to be alone with Steve.

“I don't wanna kick you out,” he said truthfully and shrugged.

Kono cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Steve looks tired,” she pointed out. “He's probably got a pretty bad headache by now.”

“I'm not his mother,” Danny told her and picked up a dish rag to wipe the counter next to the fridge just to be doing something. “It's his house, he's old enough. He can tell you to leave if he's not feeling up to this.” Frustrated, he spun around and flung the rag across the kitchen. It hit a cabinet with a wet squelch and dropped to the counter underneath.

“Woah.” Kono stared at him, her expression shocked. “What the hell is going on with you?” she demanded, hands spread wide.

Danny opened his mouth but all that came out was a breath of air.

“Hey,” Kono called, her voice softening.

Danny shrugged helplessly. “I'm blaming him for it,” he said.

Kono just looked at him, confused. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Reyes?”

Danny nodded. “I don't want to. I pulled the trigger. I killed him. But I keep thinking… Why did he let me do it? Why does he keep telling me I did the right thing?”

Kono heaved a sigh. This was a fucked up mess and she knew it. “You have to talk to him about this,” she then urged gently.

“I know… but I'm scared,” Danny admitted, his voice just above a whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of losing him.” Saying it out loud made it all real in a way. Danny swallowed against the lump forming at the back of his throat, drew in a shallow breath. “If his moral compass is that far off, if he really thinks that what I did was okay, if that's why he didn't stop me from shooting Reyes then…” The realization sent an ice cold shiver down his spine. “Then I can't trust him anymore.”

“Danny.” Kono stared at him in disbelieve. “This is Steve we're talking about.”

“I know.” He knew. He knew how absurd this sounded. How inherently wrong the idea seemed. But— “You don't think what I did was right. Do you?”

Kono just stood there, staring at him, torn between the different answers and their implications.

“Just say it.”

She wrapped her arms around her slender frame, hugging, bracing herself. Her big, apologetic eyes shone bright in the dimly lit room. “I don't think it was right,” she admitted. “But I understand why you did it. Maybe that's all Steve is trying to say.”

Danny shook his head. “It's not what he's saying.”

“Talk to him. Please.”

“I—“

“Hey.”

Danny's head snapped to the door. Lou stood there, a bunch of empty beer bottles in his hands. “You've been in here for a while. Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Danny assured quickly. He gave a quick shake of his head, forced a smile. “Yeah, we're fine.”

Lou gave him a long, assessing look before he accepted the answer. “I think it's time to call it a night,” he said, stepping into the kitchen and setting down the bottles on the closest counter top. “Grace and Steve are both asleep out there,” he added, nodding his head to the window.

“That's great,” Danny muttered. This way, he could send Steve straight to bed.

“Hey, Danny, why don't you get Grace into bed,” Kono suggested. “I'm sure Chin can handle Steve. And you and me are getting started on clean-up,” she added, addressing Lou.

Danny nodded, relieved. Grace was old and responsible enough to brush her teeth and find her own way to bed, even after falling asleep outside. But Danny was grateful for the excuse to not have to deal with Steve tonight.

“Sounds like a plan,” Lou decided.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Kono hung back when Lou and Chin started walking toward the cars after saying their goodbyes. Standing on the threshold of the front door, she gave Danny a long look. “You gonna be okay here?” she asked softly.

Danny nodded. “Yeah.”

He reached out and took her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “Thanks,” he added.

“Hey,” Kono said, cocking her head to the side. “Talk to him, okay?”

Not sure what to tell her, Danny let go of her hand and hugged her instead. “Good night,” he said quietly.

Kono held on tight for a long moment. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny had just gotten comfortable on the couch when he heard the floorboards upstairs creak. He could tell it came from Steve's bedroom and not Grace's. He stared at the ceiling, hoping that maybe Steve had just gotten up because he needed to pee and not because he woke up at a little after midnight to find the bed next to him empty and decided to find out why Danny wasn't there with him.

But the next thing he heard was the door squeaking as it opened. A moment's hesitation and then footsteps on the stairs. Steve stopped when he reached the bottom.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and sleepy.

Danny sat up, turned to look at him. “I didn't wanna disturb you,” he said and shrugged.

Steve sighed. “Just come upstairs. Please.”

“Yeah, sure,” Danny said after a beat. They did need to talk. Why not do it now? He just needed a minute to prepare himself. “You go ahead, I'll be up in a moment.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


They were lying next to each other in bed again, just like the night before. To Danny, it felt like a lifetime ago. And just like last night, Danny didn't know what to say.

Once again, it was Steve who spoke first.

“What's going on?” he asked into the darkness. He shifted next to Danny, rolled onto his side to face him. Danny continued to stare at the ceiling, still unable to look him in the eye.

“Why aren't you talking to me?” Steve voice was quiet, heavy with confusion and something that sounded maybe a little like fear. “I— You always talk, Danny,” he continued. “This— this silence… I don't know what it means and—” He broke of with a desperate sigh. After a beat, he added, “I just feel like I'm losing you and I don't know why.”

Danny was afraid of losing him, too. “I don't know what to do,” he whispered.

“Just tell me what's wrong.” Steve reached out to him. “Is this about Reyes?”

The question sent a fresh surge of anger through Danny, pushing aside apprehension and fear. He jerked away from the touch and sat up. “Why did you let me do it?” he asked, his back turned to Steve. “Why did you just stand there and— Do you really think putting a bullet through his head was the right thing to do?”

“I— He would have—“

“Stop saying that,” Danny hissed, turning to face him. “Stop saying it was him or us. It wasn't and you know it. I went down there and I shot him and I didn't have to. We could have just taken Matt and left. I didn't have to kill him but I did.”

“Yes, Danny, you had to,” Steve disagreed vehemently. He pushed himself up and sat back against the headboard. “I— I didn't give you a choice.”

Danny stared at him. “What?” he asked, confused. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I didn't give you a choice,” Steve repeated as if it was obvious. “I know— God, I know how guilty you feel about this and I wish… I wish I could go back and fix all this but I can't.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I—“ Steve said, clawing a hand into his t-shirt over his chest. “I did this. You had to do it because _I_ took out his men. Reyes would have come after us for that. If you hadn't— He would have wanted payback for that at least. He— He had already threatened Grace.” Steve shook his head, stared at Danny with big, pleading, apologetic eyes. “I didn't give you a choice.”

Danny absorbed his words mutely. It felt like they pried open the vise that had squeezed his lungs all day long. Because Steve— He'd honestly thought Danny had killed Reyes to protect his family, to protect _Grace_.

“In that moment,” Steve continued, his voice raspy and hoarse. “When they took us back upstairs and Matt was still down there…” He frowned, stared vacantly down at the mattress like he was back in Colombia. “I couldn't leave him behind. I just couldn't. I left Freddy behind and I—“

Steve's eyes, wide and full of pain, snapped up to meet Danny's. He shook his head. “I didn't want you to feel—“

He clamped his mouth shut, unable to verbalize the emotions.

“I should have done it,” he added a beat later, his words laced with regret and self-loathing. “I should have done something to make sure Reyes couldn't hurt Grace.”

Danny shook his head. “No. You've done so much,” he said, surprised by the steadiness of his own voice. Encouraged, he drew in a deep breath, thinking that maybe he could get through saying this without his squeezing throat choking on the words.

“I didn't do it because I was afraid of him,” he confessed, no longer able to meet Steve's gaze. He stared at the drawn curtains behind the bed instead. “I didn't do it to protect Grace.”

“Danny,” Steve said, argued. It sounded like he didn't want to hear the truth.

“I did it because he killed my brother,” Danny continued stubbornly. Steve needed to know the truth, needed to know who he really was; who he was sharing a bed with. He deserved to know that Danny was a monster, a cold blooded killer driven by nothing but pure and simply revenge. “I did it because he cut up his body and put him into an oil drum.”

“It's okay,” Steve insisted, just as stubborn. Danny wasn't sure he'd even really heard him.

“It's not okay. I'm a cop. We're cops.” The hypocrisy stung like a slap in the face. If it was anyone else… “You should arrest me.”

“You weren't thinking clearly,” Steve argued. “Why you did it—” he shook his head, “—it doesn't change the outcome.”

“But the reason matters.” Danny sighed, desperate to know that this wasn't who Steve was. That he knew right from wrong. “I need you to say that it was not okay. I need to know that you know that what I did was wrong.”

“Danny.”

“Please. Be honest,” he pleaded. “I can't trust myself anymore. I need to know I can trust you. I need you to be my compass. I need you to say it.” The words fell desperately from his mouth. “I need you.”

“I don't want to hurt you.” Steve admitted.

Hope fluttered inside Danny's chest. He shook his head. “You won't. Please.”

Steve inhaled a deep breath, released it shakily as he prepared himself. “You killed Reyes for the wrong reason,” he said slowly. Danny could tell saying the words _hurt_. “What you did was wrong.”

Danny felt boneless with relief. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Steve shifted, scooted to the edge of the bed to sit next to him. He hesitated for a brief second, then wrapped his arms around Danny, pulling him to his chest. Steve was warm, solid, strong. He smelled like fire and the ocean and _Steve_. Danny melted against him, face buried in his neck. “Thank you,” he said again.

“I'm sorry,” Steve whispered, cradling a hand through Danny's hair, smoothing the other palm down his back. “I'm sorry I didn't do anything to stop you.”

“No.” Danny sighed and pulled away, settling his own hands on Steve's hip and thigh. He shook his head. “I get it now. You thought I was doing it to protect Grace.”

Steve frowned darkly, casting his gaze down. “I should have never put you in that situation. We should have just left. But I couldn't…”

“I know,” Danny assured quickly. “I wouldn't have left there without Matty either. I don't blame you. I don't blame you for any of it. I didn't understand…” Danny huffed out a breath, annoyed and angry with himself. They should have talked sooner about all this, before misunderstandings and doubt had gotten a chance to almost destroy everything they had.

He sighed, leaning his forehead against Steve's collarbone. “I'm sorry.“

Steve gently ran a hand over the back of his head. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked quietly as he curled the other hand around Danny's elbow, holding him again.

“I'll talk to Dr. Palmer. I need to figure out a way to live with what I've done.”

“I could come with you.”

Danny breathed out a chuckle. “You hate shrinks.”

“She's a counselor,” Steve argued, still serious.

“That she is,” Danny agreed softly.

Silence stretched between them.

“We're good, right?” Steve asked after a beat.

“Yeah,” Danny answered. He pulled away to look at Steve again. “I'm sorry for the way I acted. I'm sorry I doubted you,” he said, palming the side of his face gently.

“I understand,” Steve said and smiled. It looked strained but honest.

Danny leaned in and kissed his lips softly, thinking that Steve forgave far too easily.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PTSD, nightmares, sex (sort of)

##  **Someday**

Chapter 22

  
  


Danny was woken violently by a brutal, uncoordinated jab to his throat.

He grunted, coughed, raised both arms instinctively to protect his head. Disoriented, he stared wide-eyed into the darkness, trying to identify the source of the attack.

What the hell?

“No,” a familiar voice muttered next to him.

Steve.

Just as Danny remembered where he was, a fist collided hard with his upraised forearm. He hissed in pain and scrambled back to the very edge of the mattress, out of Steve's immediate reach. He briefly turned to switch on the lamp on the bedside table.

Steve tossed restlessly beside him, eyes firmly closed and arms flailing occasionally as he fought some invisible threat.

Danny's heart pounded inside his chest, his scalp prickled. He had no idea what to do.

Steve suddenly kicked his feet and pushed himself up in the bed, his head banged loudly against the wooden bars of the headboard. He grunted in between ragged breaths. Danny stared, horrified.

He knew he had to do _something_ when Steve started to claw at the small bandage over the cut on the back of his right hand. He tore it off, scratched at the wound over and over until it bled. The low keening sound coming from somewhere deep within his chest sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard in Danny's ears.

“Steve,” he called softly. He knew it wasn't enough to wake him, but he couldn't get out a louder sound. He didn't dare touch him.

“It's okay, you're safe,” Danny whispered.

Steve clawed at his arm now. The small puncture wounds there were too faded to be reopened. Blunt fingernails raised red welts over them. Danny wondered if, in his mind, Steve was back in the basement with Wo Fat, being pumped full of drugs.

Still scratching fingers smeared blood across skin.

Danny needed to put an end to this before Steve hurt himself more.

He grabbed his pillow and flung it down into Steve's chest.

The reaction took him by surprise. Instead of countering the attack, Steve cowered away from it, curling in on himself, facing away from Danny. He murmured something. It sounded like a plea.

Still afraid Steve might lash out if touched, Danny softly called out to him again. “Hey, Steve. Come on, wake up,” he begged, wondering if Steve would even be able to hear him over the sound of his own heavy breathing.

“Steve!” Danny called louder.

“Steve, wake up!”

Steve froze, stopped breathing for a moment. Then he gasped out a breath, started panting again.

Danny inched away from the edge, closer to Steve's still cowering form. “Steve, you awake?” he asked cautiously.

“Danny?” Steve's voice was rough, raw. It sounded like he'd been screaming for hours.

Relief flooded Danny and he slid closer to him. “I'm right here, babe.”

He lightly touched Steve's upturned shoulder.

Steve flinched, gasped. He didn't pull away.

“You awake?” Danny asked, smoothing the hand down Steve's upper arm. The fabric of the t-shirt was damp with sweat, the skin underneath felt chilled.

After a moment's hesitation, Steve's head bobbed with a nod. His breath hitched on a shaky inhale, his whole body started to tremble.

“Hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay,” Danny murmured as he pressed himself against Steve's back. Hooking his chin over the shaking shoulder, he wrapped both arms tightly around the heaving chest.

“I'm right here, I got you,” Danny promised over and over again until Steve's breathing evened out.

He didn't stop trembling.

“You okay?” Danny asked after a few moments.

The question was met by silence.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Danny just wanted him to say _something_.

“You're freezing,” he observed when Steve remained silent. He smoothed his palms up and down the damp t-shirt covering his chest. “You're soaked.”

Steve answered with a shudder.

Danny disentangled one arm from around Steve and reached for the covers. His eyes fell on the crimson smeared hand and arm. The bleeding had stopped. Red welts ran along his forearm where fingernails had scratched without breaking the skin. Danny pulled the covers over the wounds, all the way up to their chins and tightened his hold around Steve's still shivering body again.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded.

“It doesn't matter,” Steve ground out. “I'm sorry.”

Danny swallowed. His throat hurt where Steve's fist had hit him. He hoped it wouldn't bruise so Steve wouldn't have to know.

“I get them, too. You know that,” Danny reminded him quietly after a beat. Steve wasn't the only one, wasn't alone with this; Danny understood what it was like. “Bad nights, _someday_. Remember?”

Steve hummed affirmatively.

“I dream about Reyes and Matt,” Danny continued. “Sometimes Grace is there, too. And you.”

He paused. He'd slept undisturbed last night. It was a small respite and he was grateful for every minute of peaceful sleep. Danny knew it didn't mean he was suddenly cured, that his nightmares were gone forever. He figured Steve knew that, too. But it couldn't hurt to remind him. “You don't have to apologize because… maybe next night, I'll wake you up like this. I'm pretty sure it'll happen at some point. And when it does, can you—“

Suddenly, his throat squeezed. He almost choked on his words. His breath hitched when he exhaled. “When it happens, can you please hold me? Like this?” he asked, hopeful, whispering into Steve's ear. He tightened his hold around him, pulled him closer to his body.

Steve's chest expanded with a deep inhale. “Yeah,” he said quietly. His head bobbed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Danny closed his eyes, relieved. “Thank you,” he said softly and continued to simply hold on. Steve folded his hands over Danny's, pressed them harder against his chest, over his heart.

Silence stretched between them.

“I was back down there,” Steve suddenly said. His voice was flat, detached. “I don't— Maybe it was North Korea. The drugs— It felt like my whole body was on fire. I couldn't move and— my dad was there.”

Steve started to breathe harder again. “Wo Fat shot him. He killed him and… He put his body into a drum and then he took me away. I had to leave him there.”

“Wo Fat is gone,” Danny assured quietly.

“I know.”

“You didn't leave anyone behind.” Danny wished he could tell him his father wasn't dead instead. “Not your dad, not Freddy, not Matt.”

“I left Jenna.”

“She's with Josh,” Danny reminded him. At least she wasn't alone. She was with the one person she would have done anything for.

“Sometimes it feels like I left Catherine behind.”

It made no sense. And yet, Danny understood.

“You're not alone,” he said. “I'm right here.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “You are.”

He shifted then, pulled Danny's hands away from his body enough to turn in the embrace until they lay facing one another. “You always are,” Steve whispered. He reached up and lightly touched the fading bruise on Danny's cheek as if it proved the truth of the statement. “You're always here.”

The hand moved to cup the back Danny's head, fingers curling in his hair, pulling him in. “That's why I choose you,” Steve whispered, his breath ghosting over Danny's skin. “I choose you.”

And for a brief moment, Danny wondered, feared again that maybe Steve was just afraid of being alone, of being left behind himself. But the though became unimportant, irrelevant, when Steve pressed his mouth to Danny's, hungry and desperate. Teeth nipped at his lower lip as the hand in his hair tightened, angling his head. Steve panted, whispered “I choose you,” once more before he crushed his open mouth to Danny's again.

Danny sank into the mattress when Steve rolled him onto his back. The covers fell to the side when he swung a leg over Danny's hips, straddling him. Danny groaned with relief when, finally, Steve's tongue slid in.

He let his hands roam greedily over Steve's broad back, slide along flexing muscles at his sides. Danny grabbed, clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt when the kiss grew more urgent. Moaning at the loss when Steve's mouth pulled away, Danny arched his back, seeking more contact with his body. He shivered when Steve nibbled and licked at his chin, his jaw.

Panting, Danny leaned his head back, exposed his throat as Steve's tongue slid along the sensitive skin there.

An impatient hand pulled at the neckline of his shirt as Steve's mouth reached it. Seconds later, the hand tugged at shirt's the hem by his hip.

Danny agreed. There were far too many clothes between them. He pulled at Steve's shirt the same time Steve pushed up Danny's until it bunched under his arms. Danny shivered when large, cold hands skimmed over his torso. When Steve dove in and flicked his tongue across a bared nipple, Danny let his hands fall down to the mattress. Gasping, he arched his back, pressing his chest up into the mouth, wanting, needing _more_.

His hands curled in Steve's still sweat damp, sticky hair. Stars ignited, burned bright behind his closed eyes when Steve kept licking, suckling, biting the nub. A hand suddenly started kneading his other pec, fingers teased, pinched and rubbed at the other nipple. Danny moaned, heat surging through his chest, down his spine, pooling in his groin.

As if sensing this, Steve pulled away. Their eyes locked when he pulled his own shirt off. For a moment, time froze and Danny thought he could just lay here and simply stare into Steve's lust-filled eyes. But Steve had other ideas. He rolled his hips, grinding into Danny's stomach once, twice, before he leaned down again to kiss, open mouthed and hungry, tongue sliding hotly against Danny's.

Feeling like all he did was take and take and take, Danny raised his hands to bracket Steve's heaving ribs, stroked his palms over sweat-slick skin and into crips chest hair, searching for—

Danny froze and Steve hissed in pain when his fingers made contact with a healing burn mark high on his chest.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he muttered, panted, pulling his hands away.

In response, Steve dipped his head, caught Danny's lower lip between his teeth, nipped at it before licking his way down the line of his throat again. Danny's hands hovered in the air as Steve stretched out one leg, his body sinking down onto Danny's. He kissed, licked the dip between Danny's collar bones as he ground his pelvis into Danny's thigh, over and over again, harder and harder, creating delicious friction along Danny's growing erection where it was trapped in loose boxers and between their bodies.

Danny moaned. He ached, he burned, needed more. Hot needles prickled all over where his skin touched Steve's.

Steve buried his face in his neck as he continued to thrust against him.

The low, keening whimper that reached his ears sent ice crashing through Danny's veins.

His breath got stuck in his lungs.

Steve continued to grind against him, slower now, intensity waning, but still desperate. Only then Danny realized Steve's cock was still soft against his thigh.

Steve's breath hitched, his hips stuttered jerkily. He whined softly.

Danny ached for him, somewhere inside. He wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling him closer, trying to still his movements.

Steve shivered, trembled. “I need—“ he breathed hotly, frantically against Danny's throat. “I need…”

“Shh,” Danny hushed. He pressed a kiss to the side of Steve's head, soothed his palms up and down the heaving back.

Steve stilled above him, became boneless. Danny could faintly feel the furious pace of his heartbeat against his own chest as Steve sank down further against him.

“I need…”

“I know,” Danny whispered. He did, he knew, understood what Steve needed so desperately. To feel something that wasn't pain and fear, to get lost in anything but the lingering nightmare, get lost in sex, get lost in Danny so they could get lost in each other.

Unfortunately, Steve's exhausted, healing body refused to cooperate.

Danny held him close, willing his own throbbing erection to subside, go away.

“I'm sorry,” Steve murmured as his ragged breathing slowed down, evened out.

Danny stared at the ceiling, trailed fingers along Steve's spine, up to the base of his neck and then back down again, calming, soothing. “Nothing to be sorry for, babe,” he said quietly.

Steve huffed, made a distressed sound at the back of his throat. “The meds… 'm sorry,” he explained, apologized again.

“I know,” Danny assured, “I know.”

He sighed, frustrated with himself, thinking that he should have put a stop to this sooner, sparing Steve the experience. He had even read in the doctor's instructions that a head injury could affect sexual functioning. They should have taken things slower.

Danny kissed the side of Steve's head again, nosed his hair. Steve shivered on top of him. The damp skin of his back rippled with goose bumps under Danny's palms.

“You're cold,” he whispered.

Steve remained quiet, still.

Danny didn't want to move either, though Steve needed a hot shower to wash away cold sweat and smeared blood; the sheets needed to be changed.

Steve's limp form grew heavier with every exhale.

Danny shifted, scooted and slowly, carefully rolled them both, a hand cradled around the back of Steve's head like it was the most precious, most fragile thing. Steve went willingly. He had his eyes closed, not asleep, just shutting out the rest of the world. Danny leaned over him, gently stroked a thumb over the tear-streaked, unbruised cheek before he dipped his head to brush soft kisses to closed eyes.

“You don't have to look at me right now if you don't want to,” he murmured. “You can keep your eyes closed for as long as you need. I'll be right here. Whenever you want to open them, whenever you're ready, I'll be right here. Take as much time as you need. A day or a week or a year. It doesn't matter. I'll always be right here.”

Danny bent down to kiss his forehead, his cheek, his lips. “You are so loved,” he added softly. “You have no idea.”

Steve exhaled a shaky breath. His eyelids fluttered. Danny waited patiently as his gaze flickered around. He blinked and then opened his eyes fully, looking plainly, directly up at Danny.

Danny palmed the side of his face, gently, below the large bruise. Overwhelmed by the trust he saw in those pale blue orbs, even after everything they had been through just today, he pressed another kiss to Steve's mouth.

“Thank you,” Danny whispered.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny woke early the next morning. He couldn't tell why. Maybe because of some unremembered nightmare. In hindsight, he figured it may have been some kind of paternal instinct.

The alarm clock on the bedside table announced in big numbers that it was 8:17 a.m. which, for a Sunday, was definitely very early. Given the eventful night he and Steve had had, it was downright wrong. Even Steve was still sound asleep, sprawled out on his back, almost starfished, peaceful. Danny's head rested on his shoulder, he had one arm slung low across his abdomen and figured that, if he had to wake up this early on a Sunday, this was the way to do it.

He inhaled a deep breath. Steve was warm and comfortable under him, he smelled like laundry detergent and soap. By some miracle, Danny had managed to get him into the shower last night, had made sure he washed blood and sweat and the smell of lingering fear from his body while Danny had changed the sheets.

Danny didn't want to get up, feeling like he could lay here all day and watch the even rise and fall of Steve's chest as he slept on. But the arm wedged between their bodies was starting to prickle with impending numbness and maybe Grace was already up. She didn't need supervision, but the last night had left Danny with a strong sense of protectiveness and he felt the need to make sure she, too, was all right.

He slowly lifted his head off of Steve's shoulder. Even in his sleep, Steve shifted minutely at the loss of contact, made a small, dissatisfied sound. Danny waited but he didn't wake.

Smoothing his hand up Steve's t-shirt covered chest, Danny rested it over his heart for a moment. He bent down to drop a soft kiss onto his forehead before he slipped out from under the covers.

He checked Mary's room first, but the bed was empty. Grace was already up. Again. Danny wondered where she got that from. Sighing, he made his way downstairs.

His heart rate quickened with a vague sense of panic when he first found the living room, then the dining room and the kitchen empty. He was just about to check the bathroom when his eyes fell on a small figure sitting in the sand by the water out back. Grace was facing the ocean so Danny could only see her back. But he could tell from the slump of her shoulders that something was wrong.

Barefooted, he headed outside and cleared his throat loudly from a few feet away to alert her to his presence. Grace didn't react. He dropped down beside her where she sat in the sand, hugging her knees to her chest, staring into the distance aimlessly.

“Hey, Monkey,” Danny said softly. She looked up at him then with a forlorn expression on her face, eyes heavy with something he couldn't quite identify. Maybe sadness, maybe fear.

Danny swallowed thickly, hoping this was something he would be able to fix. “What's going on? Why you sittin' out here so early.”

She sighed, cast her gaze down. “I heard you last night,” she said quietly and hugged her body even tighter to her legs. “I woke up when you called Steve's name. I—“ She paused, bit her bottom lip. “You sounded scared.”

Danny shifted, turned to face her instead of the ocean. “Steve was having a bad nightmare. I didn't know how to help him. I tried to wake him up,” Danny explained calmly.

Grace absorbed his words silently. She then frowned darkly and turned to look at him. “Did he dream about when he got hurt?”

Danny nodded. The breath he inhaled stung faintly somewhere deep inside his chest. “Yeah, kind of.”

“What happened to him?” Grace asked, her voice quiet, timid almost, but demanding an honest answer at the same time. “I— I know being a cop is dangerous sometimes but—“ She stopped, released a shaky breath. “There are so many bruises.”

Her whispered words made Danny's heart ache. She had an idea of what kind of dangers they faced on the job. She'd been right there when Ron Alberts had put a bullet in Danny's arm. She could picture shootouts with the bad guys and car chases and even an accidental sarin gas poisoning. But Steve had left Wo Fat's torture chamber with more than just a bullet graze. Fortunately, Grace didn't know about the drugs, hadn't seen the burns on his chest. But the litany of bruises all over his body, the ligature marks circling his wrists and ankles, the small cuts and puncture wounds — they all painted a horrifying picture of an attack far more personal than anything she could probably imagine them encountering on the job.

Danny scooted even closer to his little girl. He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close and dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

“The man who did this is gone, okay,” he told her, quietly but firmly. “He can never hurt anyone ever again.”

Grace nodded her head against his chest. “Why did he hurt him like that?” she asked.

It was a good question but Gracie was too young to hear the whole truth. And Danny couldn't even begin to understand, let alone explain to her the depravity of sadistic pleasure a sick fuck like Wo Fat probably got out of torturing Steve.

“He wanted information,” Danny told her instead. At least it wasn't a lie. “He thought that if he hurt Steve then he would tell him what he wanted to know.”

“But Steve didn't tell him,” Grace said. It wasn't a question. She somehow knew Steve well enough to know.

Danny sighed. “He didn't even know what the man wanted to know,” he added.

Grace tensed in his arms. “That's not fair.”

Her simple words, the defiant, protective tone of her voice somehow managed to express perfectly, precisely how Danny felt. “No,” he agreed. “It's not fair.”

A shiver travelled through her body. Her breath hitched. Danny tightened his hold around her. “Hey, hey, baby, it's okay,” he hushed softly. “Steve's gonna be okay.”

“Are you sure?” Grace asked.

“We'll make sure,” Danny said, determined. “We'll both make sure, okay?”

After a moment, Grace nodded.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


It was a little after eleven when Danny decided to go upstairs and check on Steve. After last night, Danny expected him to sleep in. He knew from experience how exhausting nightmares could be. Especially those that woke you drenched in cold sweat.

When he opened the bedroom door, Danny found the bed empty but unmade. He could hear water running in the bathroom. A moment later, the faucet was shut off and Steve came into the bedroom, drying his face with a towel.

“Hey, you're up,” Danny observed happily and offered him a bright smile.

Steve took in his cheery mood with a frown. He grunted something and turned to head back into the bathroom.

Danny scowled. “You okay?” he asked, following him.

Steve stood in front of the sink. His shoulders were a tense line, his back stiffly straight as he folded the towel accurately. “Yeah,” he grumbled.

“How's your head?”

“Better.”

Steve repositioned the toothbrush cup and the soap dish so that they formed a precise line.

Danny sighed.

“You hungry? Grace's been waiting for two hours to cook you oatmeal.”

“I'm good.”

A response that consisted of more than one word. Danny cheered inwardly.

“Hey, do her the favor, all right?”

Steve shrugged noncommittally but said, “Sure.” He then reached into the cupboard and started messing with the already neatly arranged deodorant, shaving cream and whatnot.

“You gonna count the q-tips next?” Danny challenged.

Steve froze, his hand squeezing a bottle of lotion.

“Or are you gonna turn around, look at me and give me a good morning kiss?”

Letting go of the bottle, Steve lowered his hands but kept staring into the cupboard.

“What's wrong, babe?” Danny asked softly.

Steve turned then, leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively. He glared at Danny. “I think you know what's wrong.”

Leaning a shoulder and his head against the door frame, Danny offered him a sympathetic smile. He wanted to tell Steve that there was no need for him to feel embarrassed about what had happened after the nightmare, didn't want to make a bigger deal out of it than absolutely necessary. Steve wasn't used to showing weaknesses, let alone discussing them. “You had a bad night,” he said simply and shrugged. “It happens.”

“I've had bad nights before, Danny.” Steve averted his gaze to the floor. “This— this was a terrible night.”

“Hey, news flash, big guy. You're human. You're allowed to have bad nights and terrible nights.” Danny closed the short distance between them with one big step. He laid a hand on Steve's forearm, gently, remembering the fresh scratch marks now covered by a long sleeve t-shirt. “Don't worry about this. You're healing, you're recovering,” Danny reminded him. “You're on medication.”

Steve blew out a breath, clearly frustrated with the whole situation. “I know,” he muttered.

“We should have waited anyway,” Danny amended. “I don't usually put out that soon.”

Steve's gaze flickered up to meet Danny's at that. He quirked up an eyebrow. “Four years not long enough for you? When did you meet Rachel, in kindergarten?”

Danny snorted. “See, your horrible sense of humor is still fully intact.” He smiled and reached his hand up to Steve's shoulder, patting it reassuringly a couple of times. “You're gonna be just fine, babe.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I'm starving,” he decided after a beat.

“Nuh-uh.” Danny shook his head. “Good morning kiss first.”

A wet, uncoordinated smooch hit his face somewhere between nose, lips and cheek and then Steve was gone.

Danny laughed and followed him downstairs.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“This smells really good,” Steve commented while Danny helped Grace scoop the finished oatmeal into three bowls.

Grace picked up one of them, stuck a spoon into it and put it for Steve on the kitchen island. “I hope it doesn't make you queasy again,” she said.

Danny turned around just in time to see Steve flash her a big grin from across the kitchen. “Oh, don't worry,” he said and gave the gooey mass in his bowl a quick stir. “I'm way too hungry for that.”

Danny reached behind himself and nudged Grace's bowl closer to her. “You better dig in, Monkey. Judging by the way he's eyeing your bowl I'm not sure how safe it is.”

Grabbing his own portion, Danny distractedly watched as Steve and Grace started eating and then did the same. The first spoonful made him look down and check if he had accidentally grabbed a bowl of wheat paste. “Wow,” he muttered as soon as he got his teeth unstuck. “This is… this is somethin' else.”

“It's fantastic,” Steve enthused and somehow managed to shovel spoonful after spoonful into his mouth.

Grace pulled a face. “It tastes like cardboard,” she complained and then looked up apologetically. “I'm sorry.”

“I love it,” Steve disagreed around a full, sticky mouth.

Danny rolled his eyes at him. “You would.”

Grace sighed, looking down heartbrokenly into her bowl.

“Don't make that face, Monkey. This is still salvageable.”

Danny reached into the cupboard over the stove and rummaged around until he found the brown sugar and cinnamon. Then he moved over to the fridge to retrieve the butter.

“Hey, get the Sriracha, too,” Steve said.

Danny shot him a look over his shoulder. “What?”

“Ew,” Grace opined, scrunching up her face.

Steve whirled his spoon at them. “Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it.”

“I don't need to try it to know that it's disgusting,” Danny grumbled into the fridge but still got both out, the butter and the Sriracha sauce.

“You're missing out,” Steve told him seriously.

“On what?” Danny asked, shoving the bottle at him. “The annihilation of my tastebuds?”

Moving back in next to Grace, he watched as Steve squeezed a good amount of the spicy sauce into his oatmeal, gave it another stir and then started digging in with renewed fervor. Just thinking about the taste of that concoction made a shiver run down Danny's spine. He shook himself. “That's gross. I can't even look at that. Don't look at that, baby,” he said, reaching out to cover Grace's eyes as she stared on fascinated.

She pulled his hand away from her face. “Can I try it?”

Oh the misguided, adventurous youth.

“Sure.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It's Sriracha sauce, Danny,” Steve groaned. “It's not like I'm offering her a shot of vodka.”

“I'd rather you offer her a shot of vodka.”

Steve shrugged. “I got a bottle in the freezer, you want me to get it?”

“What? No! Are you insane?”

“Danno, calm down,” Grace whined.

“I am calm,” he let them know furiously and huffed. “You go ahead, try it,” he then challenged with a whirl of his hand. “I'll get you a glass of milk to put out the fire you're about to light on your tongue,” he added, ambling back over to the fridge.

“Don't listen to him, it's not that spicy.” Steve then proceeded to ferry a heaping spoonful of his oatmeal over to Grace's waiting mouth. They reminded Danny of mama bird and baby bird. It was kind of endearing. He grabbed his phone off the counter and quickly snapped a picture.

A moment later, Grace pulled a face as if she'd sucked on a lemon. “That is disgusting.”

Danny smugly pursed his lips at her. “I hate to tell you 'I told you so' but—“

“Those are literally your four favorite words,” Steve interrupted.

“That's true,” Grace agreed.

“It's not— It's not true!”

“It kind of is,” Steve said.

Danny blew out a breath. Because, great, they were already conspiring against him. “I'm glad the two of you are agreeing on this preposterous, defaming lie.”

“It's the truth,” Steve pointed out. “We're agreeing on the truth.”

“Perfect,” Danny huffed. “Okay, let's go to the table, eat like civilized people.”

Steve gave him a sloppy salute. “Yes, sir,” he said and marched out of the kitchen. Grace darted off after him. Danny sighed.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	23. Chapter 23

##  **Someday**

Chapter 23

  
  


Something was up.

Steve might be a lot of things, but subtle was not one of them.

Something was definitely up. Danny could tell.

They were on the couch, watching TV. Their empty pasta bowls sat on the coffee table in front of them. Danny's feet rested in Steve's lap, large, warm hands absently stroked up and down his calves. It would have been real nice, perfect really. If only Steve would stop shooting those weird, covert (but not really) looks in his direction.

Danny had dropped Grace off at Rachel's a couple hours ago and ever since he'd come back, Steve had been acting… weird.

Steve cleared his throat when a commercial break came on. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of Danny's jeans. He cleared his throat again.

Danny blew out a sigh. “What?” he demanded.

Steve darted him a quick glance, pursed his lips and jerked up a shoulder. “You want a beer?”

“You're not having a beer,” Danny reminded Steve before he got any stupid ideas.

“I know,” he pouted. “I asked if you wanted a beer.”

Suspicious, Danny narrowed his eyes at him. “Why? You wanna get me all nice and mellow so you can sneak whatever insanity is going on inside your head on me without me even noticing? Is that it? Because, I can tell you, my friend, that I can tell that you are…” Danny waggled a finger in Steve's direction “…plotting something sinister. So just spit it out, would you? Please.”

Steve was suddenly fascinated by the commercial on the TV. Danny nudged him with a foot.

“You going in tomorrow?” Steve asked innocently.

Oooh. Danny knew where this was going.

“Yes,” he answered, letting his suspicion seep into the tone of his voice.

Steve winced. He still decided to follow through with his plan and said, “I think I'll come with you.” He somehow managed to make it sound like he was doing Danny a massive favor.

Danny sighed. “Babe, you're staying home for at least the week.”

Clearly horrified at the prospect of spending a week cooped up at home, Steve turned and stared at Danny. “But I wanna go,” he whined.

“And I wanna be a foot taller. We don't always get what we want.”

Steve harrumphed but mumbled, “You're the perfect height.”

“Naw, that's sweet and all, but you're still not going.”

Groaning, Steve threw his head back. “I'll be bored out of my mind,” he lamented.

“You're supposed to rest. Doctor's orders,” Danny argued.

“I promise I'll stay in the office,” Steve offered magnanimously, like they were actually negotiating anything more than him sleeping on the couch in his office all day. Which, by the way, was not going to happen either.

“And what are you gonna do there?” Danny asked, just to get a scope on Steve's level of delusion.

“I can do paperwork.”

“And you know what I can? I can guarantee you that after an hour in front of a computer you will want to gouge your eyes out with a spoon.” He was squinting at the large TV screen as it was.

“What am I supposed to do here all day?”

“I don't know.”

Danny huffed in annoyance when a long-suffering look from Steve almost broke right through his resolve.

“I could get you a bunch of audio books,” he suggested. “Or you could inventory your personal arsenal. Really, the possibilities are endless here. You could start a new hobby.”

“Like what? Scrapbooking?”

“Or decoupage,” Danny suggested helpfully.

Steve glared at him.

After a moment, he gave Danny's ankle a squeeze. “You could take the week off.”

“I took last week off,” Danny reasoned. And that was not mentioning the time he spent in Jersey for his brother's funeral.

“I know,” Steve muttered. His shoulders slumped.

Danny muted the TV and then leaned over and grabbed a handful of t-shirt by Steve's shoulder. “Hey, come here,” he prompted, tugging.

Steve hesitated. He looked wary.

“I just wanna make out like teenagers,” Danny quickly said, promising that there was nothing on his agenda that Steve wasn't comfortable with. “Come on,” he urged, pulling on the shirt again.

Steve snorted out a laugh. “That, we can do,” he decided. Grinning, he wiggled out from under Danny's legs. Danny scooted lower on the couch, laying down with his head propped up on the arm rest, while Steve crawled all over him, draping his long, solid body all over his. When they were face to face with each other, Steve paused and pursed his lips. “Tell me one thing, though.”

“What's that?” Danny asked distractedly as he let his eyes roam all over Steve's face, studying all the small details as if he was looking at him for the very first time. He noted that some of the smaller bruises were fading. The large one on the side of his head showed signs of healing now, too.

“Have you ever done this before?”

Danny abruptly paused in his visual exploration. “What?”

Steve simply quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I have a daughter,” Danny pointed out. It wasn't like he didn't know what exactly Steve was getting at. He wasn't a complete schmuck. But that didn't mean he was particularly keen on discussing his lack of guy on guy experiences right now. Or ever.

“Not what I meant,” Steve all but purred and Danny figured that if he stalled long enough, Steve would just drop it and give in and kiss him already.

“No? What did you mean?” he asked, curling one hand around Steve's elbow and running the other through his hair, pulling him closer.

“Have you ever made out like teenagers with another guy before?”

Danny hummed impatiently. “Less talking, more kissing, please.”

Steve huffed out a breath, killing the mood. “Seriously?” he asked incredulously, pulling away slightly.

Danny averted his gaze, dropped his hand from Steve's head to his shoulder.

“Never?” Steve insisted.

“Oh, what? And you have?” Danny shot back. Because, really.

The look and jerky head shake practically yelled 'of course' back at him.

“Seriously?” _Seriously?_ “Seriously?”

Steve frowned. “Is that really so hard to imagine?”

Danny huffed out a chuckle. “Not anymore.”

He nudged Steve away and pushed himself upright into a sitting position. Because if they were having this conversation now, Danny needed to do it without two hundred pounds of Navy SEAL on top of him.

Steve scowled.

“You never said anything. And I've never even seen you, like, check out another guy.”

“Maybe because I'm always distracted when you're around,” Steve said smugly.

Danny rolled his eyes at him. “Come on.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Everything!” Obviously.

Steve shrugged. “I've always been attracted to men and women,” he said like that was all there was to say.

Danny flailed his hands at him, asking for more details.

Steve looked confused.

“Okay.” Danny folded his hands, ready to interrogate. “First time you kissed a guy?”

“Really?” Steve whined.

“Hey, you've been there for mine, so… this is only fair.”

Steve sighed. His expression grew serious and part of Danny wondered if maybe he shouldn't have pushed. “It was shortly after Doris disappeared, before dad sent Mary and me to the mainland. I spent a lot of time at my best friend's place then because—“ He broke off. Shaking his head, he let his gaze wander around the room. “I couldn't stand being in this house. Everything reminded me of her.”

Danny reached over to put a hand on Steve's thigh, giving it an encouraging squeeze. Though the memory was clearly painful, he was glad Steve was sharing it so readily with him.

“Anyway,” he continued, “his name was Jason. I— My dad and I had gotten into a fight and I kind of lost it, started screaming and freaking out and Jason… he was just trying to comfort me, I guess. I— I was a mess. I misinterpreted the situation and kissed him and he punched me in the face, broke my nose.”

“Ouch,” Danny commiserated.

Shrugging up a shoulder again, Steve blew out a breath. “I never spoke to him again.”

“I'm sorry.” Danny sighed, rubbing his palm over Steve's leg. “Any happier stories?” he asked carefully. Steve had spent a good portion of his life in a military environment, which wasn't exactly known for its acceptance of same sex relationships. It wouldn't surprise Danny if there were no more stories to tell.

But Steve's soft, reminiscent smile quickly thwarted that theory.

“There was this guy when I was in NI. He was a civilian and it wasn't anything serious but—“

“But?”

Steve glanced over to Danny, licking his lips. Danny figured he did that on purpose. “Let's just say that there are a few very happy stories I could tell you.”

A hysterical giggle bubbled up from Danny's chest as his vivid imagination went crazy with that piece of information. “I'm guessing those stories involve more than just kissing.”

“I was in the Navy, Danny, not a monastery. What do you think?”

Right now, Danny wished he could stop thinking because his brain kept providing him with images of Steve in bed with some hot, faceless guy.

“So what about you?” Steve asked, thankfully derailing that whole train of thought. “You seriously never even kissed a guy?”

“Nope. Never.”

“But… you've wanted to.”

Danny slowly shook his head. “No.” He shot a sheepish glance over to Steve. “Not until a little while ago, anyway.”

Steve studied him with a confused frown. “Seriously?” he asked. “How's that even possible?”

Danny sighed. “I don't know. The internet says it happens.”

Steve quirked up an eyebrow at that.

“Hey,” Danny yelped, “don't think this didn't confuse me, too.”

“Fair enough,” Steve relented.

Silence stretched between them.

“You wanna make out like teenagers now?” Danny asked.

Steve grinned and pushed him back down on the couch again.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


The next morning, Danny's phone woke them up at oh-dark-hundred.

_Monday_ , Danny thought darkly.

Chin was courteous enough to ask if he wanted to come in for the double homicide. Danny grunted that he was on his way.

Steve, clearly only half awake and operating on auto pilot, was halfway to the bathroom when Danny caught up with him. “No, no, no, babe. You bed, me shower.”

Steve huffed and then just stood there, debating the order.

“Bed,” Danny reiterated, giving him a gentle push.

“'kay.” Steve nodded and then leaned down, smacking a kiss to Danny's forehead. “Morning kiss,” he explained and then shuffled back to the bed.

Danny smiled fondly at him and dragged his own ass to the shower.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


On Tuesday, the alarm on Danny's phone beeped at seven thirty. Which was better than getting up at the butt crack of dawn to work a murder case but still way too early — especially after coming home ( _home?_ ) around midnight last night. But he didn't exactly have a choice. He had an appointment with Dr. Palmer at nine. And even though he was nervous, anxious and maybe even a little terrified about talking to her about what had happened, he was determined to look at this as a chance to find a way to deal with his guilt.

Things were good right now. He slept fantastically in Steve's bed, with Steve right next to him. But there was no point in pretending that he had dealt with what he'd done in any significant way or that he was moving on from it. Being with Steve was new and exciting and distracting, taking his mind off Reyes and Matt and Colombia. But Danny knew that as soon as they'd settle into a routine, as soon as this became the new normal, his mind would go to the dark places again more frequently, stay there for more than a few brief seconds.

If he could get a handle on things now then maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

When Danny swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, Steve crawled after him. His face bumped into Danny's hip and then dropped down to the bed.

“What the hell was that?” Danny asked.

Steve mumbled, “mor'ing kiff,” into the crease between the mattress and Danny's butt.

Snorting out a laugh, Danny patted his head affectionally and got up.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


On Wednesday, Danny startled awake when the mattress dipped and the comfortable warmth next to him disappeared.

“Wha…?” he muttered, stretching out an arm until it collided with something solid. He splayed clumsy fingers low over Steve's t-shirt covered side. “Where you goin'?” Danny demanded, slipping his hand underneath the soft, worn fabric.

Steve's chuckle rumbled lowly in the quiet bedroom.

“I'm going in to see the doc today, remember?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Danny hummed, burrowing his face deeper into the pillow. He was comfortable, he was cozy. He didn't want to get up.

He didn't want Steve to get up, either.

Sliding his hand lower, Danny curled his fingers into the hem of his shorts.

Steve snorted and turned. He shifted, the mattress dipped again. Danny held on tight as Steve leaned over him, bent low and dropped a kiss to the side of his head.

“Morning kiss?” Danny mumbled into the pillow.

“Morning kiss,” Steve confirmed.

Danny let him go.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


On Thursday, Danny drifted awake slowly. He yawned and blinked sleep-crusted eyes, feeling lazy and lethargic. The weight that rested against his side was familiar now. Trying not to wake Steve, Danny stretched carefully, arching his back just a little. He frowned when he noticed something poking against his thigh.

The last remnants of sleepy fogginess evaporated as Danny looked first at Steve's face to confirm that he was in fact still asleep, and then lifted the covers to peek under them. He smiled when he saw the morning erection bulging inside Steve's boxer briefs.

Danny let the covers settle, wiggled out from under Steve and rolled onto his side until they were face to face. He craned his neck and dropped a kiss on the tip of Steve's nose. Steve scrunched up his face and sniffed. Danny snickered.

Under the covers, he smoothed a hand down Steve's side and settled it on his hip.

“Babe?” he whispered.

Steve hummed sleepily.

“You awake?”

Steve responded with another noncommittal “Hmm.”

Danny let his hand slide to the front of Steve's underwear and gave the elastic band a small tug. “Because part of you is definitely up.”

Steve's eyes blinked wide open when Danny pulled the boxer briefs down. Danny's hand tingled where Steve's erection had brushed against it because, shit, he's never even touched another guy's dick before.

Steve gasped at the brief contact.

“You okay?” Danny asked, softly trailing his fingertips through crips, wiry curls of hair.

Steve only stared at him, lips slightly parted as if surprised.

Danny didn't break eye contact as he gently, carefully curled his fingers around his cock. A moment passed and then Danny gave a light squeeze. Steve inhaled sharply.

“Tease,” he accused breathlessly, eyes drifting shut.

In response, Danny slowly rubbed his thumb up and down. Steve shuddered, whimpered. “Fuck.”

“I don't know what the hell I'm doing,” Danny confessed with a helpless laugh.

“Just—“ Steve cut himself off by biting his lip. He scrunched up his face and ground out, “Let go,” through gritted teeth before he shifted back on the bed.

Danny's hand was off his dick in a nanosecond. “Shit, did I hurt you?” he asked, freaking out.

“No, no,” Steve hushed and then scrambled uncoordinatedly half out of the bed.

That did nothing to reassure Danny — though the sight of Steve's half exposed ass as he reached for something on the sideboard was a good distraction.

A bottle of lotion landed on the mattress in front of Danny.

He stared over at Steve who was busy getting rid of his t-shirt and underwear. Danny's own dick gave an interested twitch inside his boxers when he got the first real good look of Steve's hard cock.

Steve motioned at the lotion. “Your hand's dry,” he offered and then crawled back under the covers.

“Oh.”

Danny scooted up and leaned against the headboard, half propped up on an elbow. He opened the bottle and squeezed some lotion into the palm of his still tingling hand.

Steve snuggled closer to him, bumped his nose against Danny cheek and kissed and licked at his jawline.

Momentarily distracted, Danny flinched ever so slightly when Steve's hand curled itself around his wrist and pulled his hand back under the covers.

“You okay?” Steve murmured, nibbling at Danny's earlobe and sending electric shivers all the way down to his fingertips.

“I've never done this before,” Danny reminded him as he wrapped his hand once again around Steve's erection.

Steve groaned in response, rolling his hips to tentatively thrust into Danny's loose fist. He was still holding the hand firmly in place.

“Just…” Hot breath ghosted over Danny's neck as Steve panted. “Just do whatever you do when you jerk off.”

“You sure?”

“Just stop thinking and _do_ something,” Steve begged.

Mouth dry, Danny tightened his grip, feeling the throbbing of the vein that ran along the underside of Steve's cock. He started to run his slick hand up and down along the hot length.

Steve was gasping in between licks and kisses. He worked his way down the line of Danny's neck, teeth scraping over vulnerable skin. His hips ground into Danny's touch faster, more erratic, more urgently.

Heat blossomed all over Danny's skin. Encouraged that what he was doing was clearly feeling good for Steve, Danny began stroking him firmer, with more confidence. His own dick was hard inside his boxers.

Steve let go of Danny's wrist and curled the hand around his upturned hip instead. Using the grip as leverage, he thrust harder into the now tight fist. Danny could feel his breath hitching, growing shorter. Steve moaned and buried his face into Danny's neck, hips snapping faster. Then, suddenly, he stuttered, jerked as he came between them. Danny continued to tug and squeeze until he felt the cock grow soft in his hand. Steve sank boneless against him. His panting breath tingled on Danny's chest.

Before Danny knew what was happening, Steve lifted his head off his shoulder and crushed his opened mouth to Danny's. Teeth clanked, tongues collided, battling briefly for dominance. Danny gave in easily as Steve pushed him down to lie on his back and straddled his hips. He was vaguely aware of Steve rummaging with one hand in the bedside table drawer on his side but decided he didn't care when Steve suddenly pulled away from the kiss.

Before Danny could protest, Steve started nibbling and licking his way down to Danny's chest, hot, wet tongue gliding over tingling skin. Steve briefly paused to flick his tongue over a straining, pebbled nipple. Eyes closed, Danny groaned, arching his back, wordlessly asking, begging for more, more, more of that. Steve suckled the nub before moving over to the other one. Sharp teeth scraped over the nipple and Danny yelped in surprise at the jolt of painful pleasure.

He whimpered at the back of his throat when Steve moved lower, nosing his way down, tongue briefly dipping into his bellybutton.

Large, warm hands tugged and pulled at his boxers, somehow managed to disentangle them from his legs as Steve moved lower and lower, settling between Danny's now spread thighs.

His eyes snapped back open when he felt a hot gust of breath ghost over his hard dick. Something short-circuited inside his head when Steve grinned up at him and wrapped his hand around his throbbing cock, stroking his thumb over the head, spreading drops pre-come around.

Then suddenly the hand was gone and a desperate sound escaped Danny's throat. “What— what—“ he panted, protested as Steve busied himself with something that wasn't his dick.

“Hang on,” Steve promised and Danny only belatedly realized that he was unwrapping a condom. Then Steve's hands were back on him, easily rolling the condom over him. One hand circled the base of his cock and Steve leaned down, flicking his tongue over the top. Danny saw stars and slammed his eyes shut. He pulled up his legs for leverage and thrust up his hips.

Steve's firm hands curled around his hips and held him in place and then, without further warning, wet heat engulfed his erection. Steve lazily suckled the tip. Danny's toes curled, his hands fisted the sheets underneath him. He writhed, moaned as Steve took him in deeper. Danny whimpered when he started to suck. It felt like his cock filled more and more inside Steve's hot mouth.

A point of pressure ran along the underside, swirled around the head. Steve shifted and relaxed his jaw and Danny slid in even further. He couldn't help but thrust his hips again, even though Steve's firm grip didn't allow for much movement.

Steve hummed low in his throat and the vibrations reverberated all throughout Danny's body, propelling him close to the edge. He tried to thrust again and again as Steve's mouth, tongue, throat created a perfect electric slide. He came with a hoarse, startled cry.

Panting, gasping for breath, Danny just lay there, floating, hearing nothing but the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

He moaned brokenly, when Steve's large, warm hands gently rolled the condom off his oversensitive flesh. He shuddered.

Steve crawled over him and flopped down next to Danny, one long leg draped over his thigh.

Chest still heaving, Danny let his head roll to the side to look at him. “That was…”

Steve smugly quirked up an eyebrow. The sight of pink, slightly swollen lips made Danny almost choke.

He painfully huffed out a laugh. “Not horrible,” he teased.

“Not horrible?” Steve echoed, offended.

“Yeah,” Danny breathed, stretching his neck to bump his nose against Steve's. “We're gonna have to work on some stuff.”

Steve grinned. “Practice makes perfect.”

Danny hummed. “And I know you can be quite the perfectionist.”

Still smiling broadly, Steve angled his head and dropped a small, gentle kiss to Danny's lips.

“Morning kiss,” he said softly.

Danny snorted. “Best one yet, babe,” he sighed. “Best one yet.”

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


On Friday, Danny jerked awake with a gasp, panting breathlessly. The darkness was disorienting, suffocating. A shrill noise hummed inside his head.

“Shh,” a low voice soothed from behind him.

Danny startled when an arm snuck around his waist, holding him against a solid, strong warmth. He relaxed instinctively, the panic tightening his chest, squeezing his lungs eased a fraction.

Another hand burrowed in between his ribs and the mattress, pulling him even closer to the warmth, anchoring him in place.

“You're okay,” Steve murmured against his neck. “You're okay, you're safe.”

Danny released a shuddering breath, realizing where he was. He didn't remember the nightmare but nevertheless still felt its terrorizing, lingering grip over his entire being. He swallowed against his dry throat, licked parched lips.

Steve gently nosed the hair at his nape. His hands were splayed protectively all across his bare chest and abdomen.

Danny closed his eyes and breathed.

“Bad one?” Steve asked.

Danny shrugged in his hold. “I don't remember,” he whispered.

“Maybe better that way.”

“Been a little while,” Danny said after a beat.

Steve tightened his hold. “Someday,” he reminded Danny.

“Someday,” Danny agreed.

Steve sighed and nuzzled his face against the side of Danny's neck. Stubble prickled along the back of his shoulder.

A comfortable silence settled over them. Danny closed his eyes, thinking that, like this, he could maybe manage to fall asleep again.

“You nervous about today?” Steve asked.

Danny groaned. Now that he was reminded of their plans for the day, he would definitely not be able to go back to sleep.

“Why would I be nervous,” Danny asked sarcastically. “I'm only telling my daughter that I like boys now. _And_ that I'm dating Uncle Steve.” He paused, blew out a breath. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“Nothing's gonna go wrong.”

“Famous last words,” Danny grumbled, wondering if Steve had managed to jinx this whole thing just now.

“Hey, you don't have to do this now,” Steve offered. “We can wait.”

“No, I'm doing this today,” Danny decided. He'd spent plenty of time thinking about telling Grace throughout the week. He and Steve had discussed the issue, debated pros and cons and in the end, the most important thing for them both was that they didn't want to lie to her. And not telling her he and Steve were together felt like a lie. It was different from when he'd waited to introduce her to Gabby and Amber. She hadn't known them, hadn't already loved them like she loved her Uncle Steve. She deserved to know the truth sooner rather than later.

And this was his little girl. The most understanding and compassionate, gentle and sweet human being. Danny was sure she'd be happy for them. At least once she got used to the idea that they loved each other more than just as friends. He wanted to be positive about this.

“Hey,” Steve said.

Danny hummed distractedly in response.

“Don't think so much.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the center of Danny's nape, then another one lower and another one lower. “Morning kiss,” he breathed against Danny's tingling skin as he continued to trail kisses down the line of his spine.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: allusions to depression

##  **Someday**

Chapter 24

  
  


“So you're gay now?”

Rachel regarded him with one skeptically raised eyebrow. Danny wanted to bash his face into the door frame.

“Why don't you shout a little louder, dear,” he griped, wondering first why he was having this conversation on the threshold of the Edwards mansion, and second why he was having it in the first place. “I think there may be one or two people on the mainland who didn't catch that.”

“Daniel.” Her demand for seriousness was very clear in that precise warning.

Danny sighed. “No, Rachel. I'm not _'gay now.'_ ”

Rachel crossed her arms in front of her chest and arched her eyebrow even higher. “You just told me you're seeing a man. What do _you_ call it?”

“I call it being happy with the person I love, okay. No need to call it anything else,” he told her, not even attempting to lecture her about definitions and labels. All he wanted was to follow Grace to the Camaro that stood parked outside the front gate, thankfully out of earshot.

Rachel bristled.

“Look, I didn't tell you to ask your permission or for your blessing or anything. I was just trying to be considerate because I am planning to tell Grace this afternoon and I just wanted you to be informed. You know, just in case.”

Telling Rachel had made so much more sense when he and Steve had discussed it.

“How long has this been going on?” Rachel asked, pursing her lips at him. Maybe it was the British accent, maybe the way she said it, but she somehow managed to make the question sound like this was some dirty little secret Danny had been hiding from her.

“That's none of your business.”

“No, Danny, I think it is my business,” Rachel hissed, disagreeing vehemently. “You just ended things with that girl and—“

“Amber. Her name is Amber.”

“— you can't keep bringing people into our daughter's life who are not going to stay in it. She needs stability from you.”

Danny couldn't argue with the general point Rachel was making. And that was exactly why he had always waited to introduce Grace to his girlfriends. But this was different. This felt different. Steve was already in Grace's life.

“This is stability,” he said. “Me and Steve, we can be that.”

Rachel scoffed. “It sounds like some kind of midlife crisis to me.”

Danny couldn't help but roll his eyes at the comment. He huffed out a frustrated breath. “You know what, I'm not doing this with you.”

“Danny, if you—“

“Do it,” Danny cut her off. He knew that tone, knew what she was about to do. “Say whatever you wanna say. Threaten to drag me back to court over this. Do it.”

She pressed her lips to a thin line. “I don't want that.”

“Good. Me neither.”

“Then don't make me do it.”

“I get that you're trying to protect her. I do. But…” He trailed off. Why couldn't Rachel see that, maybe, this was a really good thing? “She loves Steve,” Danny added softly.

“I know,” Rachel said, her tone strangely melancholic. “And that's why she'll be devastated if things don't work out between you two.”

Danny swallowed. He'd been trying hard to ignore that nagging thought for the past week.

“What do you want me to do, Rach? Be alone for the rest of my life? Hide this from her?”

“I want you to be sure that it is going to last.”

“I am. But you and I both know that promising forever doesn't always work out that way.” It was a hard learned lesson and the week he'd spent with Steve had almost made him forget it.

Rachel just stood there, hugging herself.

Danny shrugged. “I gotta go,” he said and left.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny took Grace to his house. He wanted to have The Talk with her here. It was, hopefully, a safe environment for her where she could take as much time as she needed to process the news. Doing it at Steve's, with Steve there would only put unnecessary pressure on her to be okay with the situation.

Danny hadn't spent much (or any) time at his house during the last week, so when they arrived, he first busied himself with opening some windows and dumping the dirty laundry he'd brought with him into the washing machine. He checked the fridge for spoiled food next. He emptied a carton of milk into the sink and then went back to the living room, looking around for other things to do.

He didn't find any. A vise tightened around his chest. Guessing it was time to stop stalling, Danny went to Grace's room.

The door was open, she was unpacking the contents of her backpack onto her desk. “Hey, babe, can I talk to you for a minute?” Danny asked as he walked over to the bed.

She looked up at him happily. But when she took in his expression, the smile morphed into a concerned frown. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Why would something be wrong? Everything is fine, okay,” Danny assured her, maybe a little too quickly. This was already off to a _great_ start.

He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. “Come here, Monkey, sit down.”

That request only deepened the furrow between her brows but she did as he asked.

“What's going on, Danno?” Big, brown eyes stared up at him.

Danny blew out a steadying breath. He felt hot all of a sudden, sweaty. He had a plan, though. He'd thought this through, he just needed to follow the script. Maybe he should have prepared flash cards with some bullet points. He also really needed his heart to stop hammering away inside his chest at two hundred beats per minute or he wouldn't be able to get half of his badly rehearsed speech out before a massive coronary kicked in. “I just wanna talk to you about something. About, um—“

He cleared his throat, tried hard to remember the plan.

“As you know, when a man and a woman like each other very much and they're in love then they become boyfriend and girlfriend. But sometimes two men or two—”

“Is this the talk?” Grace interrupted. She looked horrified.

“What talk?” Danny asked, confused, because there was no way she could know what talk exactly this was. No way.

“You know…” She gave him a pointed look, cocked her head to the side. “ _The Talk_.”

Danny didn't get it.

“The sex talk,” Grace mumbled, clearly annoyed at having to spell this out for him.

_What?_

“No. This isn't— Do you—“ he sputtered, panicking, because she was talking about _sex_.

“Not that you should be needing it within the next fifty years but…” A voice at the back of his head screamed _no, no, no!_ “Do you want to have _that_ talk?”

Grace grimaced. She looked like on that day when she'd had that stomach bug and vomited nine times in a row.

“Don't look at me like that,” Danny begged.

Grace sighed, exasperated. “Mom and I already had that talk,” she informed him.

A small blood vessel in Danny's head popped, his shoulder twitched. His baby girl was not supposed to know about these things. Ever. “You— That's fantastic,” he choked out.

Grace blubbered her lips. She looked slightly uncomfortable. “What _did_ you wanna talk about?”

Danny sighed. The script, the plan was clearly not working out as, well, planned.

“It's— It's about me. There's something I've recently realized— about me,” he improvised.

Grace frowned again. “Is it something bad?”

Danny schooled his expression, because something in his face must have given her the idea. He shook his head, forced a smile. “No, I don't think so,” he said, making sure there was a clear option for her to not be okay with this.

Grace waited for him to continue.

Danny cleared his throat again, rubbed sweaty palms over his thighs. “I have only ever been in love with women before but now I—“ He paused, swallowed thickly. “Now I like a man in a— a romantic way.”

“Oh,” Grace simply said. Her expression was unreadable.

Danny resisted the urge to reach out to touch her, run a hand over her head. He wanted to give her space to process the revelation.

“What are you thinking?” he asked carefully when she didn't say anything else.

Grace shook her head. “It doesn't matter,” she said.

Danny dipped his head to get into her line of sight. “It matters to me what you're thinking.”

“No, I mean— I don't care if you love a woman or a man.” She looked at him then, let her eyes wander all over his face, studying him. To Danny, it felt like she was trying to see if she'd find something new or different there.

He exhaled a relieved breath when she eventually smiled at him.

“I want you to be happy,” she said. “I don't mind if you're gay.”

“I'm not really sure I'm gay,” Danny qualified.

Grace frowned again, curious. “What are you then?”

He shrugged. Maybe it would have been easier to just go with 'gay' for now. “I don't know.”

Grace considered that for a moment. “I think that's okay, too,” she decided after a beat. “How long have you liked the man… romantically?”

“Not long. I wasn't— really sure about this at first. It was a little confusing to me and… I didn't think he'd feel the same way about me.”

“But he does?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah.” Danny couldn't help but grin at her. Because wasn't that the craziest thing?

She smiled back at him, just because he must have looked so happy right then.

“I didn't want to keep this a secret, not from you. But I had to figure things out for myself first.”

Grace's smile faded a little but she nodded her understanding. “That's okay,” she said and then raised expectant eyebrows at him. “Who is he?”

The question let a new wave of panic wash over him. Because he felt that by saying that one name, he'd end up altering a big part of her life and Gracie— she'd already lived through so many life-changing experiences. Danny could only hope that this was going to be one of the positive ones. “This is not gonna change anything for you, okay,” he reassured her. “Nothing has to change.”

He paused. His words seemed to freak Grace out.

He blew out a short, sharp breath, straightened his back.

His heart was pounding inside his chest.

“It's Steve,” he said.

The longest two-second silence settled between them.

Grace opened her mouth, sucked in a quick breath. She let it go with a drawn out “Oooh.”

Danny frowned. “Oh?”

“I was afraid it was gonna be somebody else,” Grace explained absently.

“Okay. I think,” Danny said. He could tell from her thoughtful expression that she was still mulling this over in her head, was still putting things in order, rearranging them, figuring out what it meant for him, for her, for the future.

She frowned, looked at him curiously. “But— I don't get it. You've known each other for a really long time. Why are you in love with him now?”

Danny shrugged. His heart rate slowed. “I can't really explain that to you. Sometimes you see someone and it's love at first sight. And then, sometimes, you get to know the person first and you start out liking them as a friend and then things change over time.”

“But what about Catherine?” Grace argued. “I thought Uncle Steve was in love with her.”

“He was and… he still loves her but… sometimes two people just can't be together, for all kinds of reasons. Like Gabby and I. And then you have to move on. If you're lucky, you'll find someone new.”

“Steve is lucky to have you,” Grace decided.

Danny was glad that that was her take away from his stumbled explanation. “Thank you,” he said.

“So, does that mean we'll spend more time at Steve's house?” Grace asked, giving her room a thoughtful, cursory look.

“Only if you want to. He can come over here, too. Or it can be just the two of us.”

Grace contemplated the options silently.

”We'll see what works best,” Danny added quickly, making sure that this wasn't a one time decision and that she didn't have to figure out what she wanted right now.

“So…” Grace looked up at him with pursed lips, cocking her head to the side. “Are you and Steve together now?”

The question made something tingle excitedly in his belly. “Yeah,” he said, happy. Then he sobered a little and added, “but… We haven't really told anyone yet. I told your mom earlier but I— We both wanted to tell you first.”

She smiled at that. “Are you gonna tell everyone now?” she asked then, more seriously, and Danny didn't miss the hint of concern in the tone of her voice.

This was something neither he or Steve had considered when they'd talked about telling Grace. Because that's all they really had talked about. Telling Grace. Danny assumed they were on the same page about telling the other people in their lives eventually. But he hadn't realized that telling Grace forced their hand in a way. They couldn't tell her about them and then make her lie about it to everyone she knew. To her friends, to their friends. Danny hadn't discussed this with Steve but he was sure that he wouldn't want to put that kind of burden on her either.

He sighed. Making the decision for both of them, hoping Steve was going to be okay with it, he said, “Yeah, I guess we will.”

Grace's smile brightened again. “So, it's not a secret.”

“No,” Danny confirmed with a shake of his head.

Grace beamed up at him. “Good,” she said. “'cause you know what great grandma Gladys says about being in love.”

“It's something to be proud of,” Danny quoted his grandma to her.

“Yeah.”

Danny finally gave in and reached out a hand to run it over her hair. “Are you sure you're okay with this?” he asked, pulling her closer until she slumped against his side, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It's okay if you need some time to think about it. And if you have any more questions, you can always ask,” he added.

Grace peeked up at him and grinned. “Have you kissed him yet?”

Danny grinned back at her. “Yes,” he said proudly.

“Are we going to his house later?”

“We can go right now if you want to,” Danny offered, not missing the excitement in her voice.

Grace squeaked. “Can we stay overnight?”

“Sure.”

She jumped off the bed and darted to her closet. “I'll pack my stuff,” she announced.

Danny simply flopped back onto the bed as a massive wave of relief crashed over him.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


The McGarrett house was eerily quiet when Danny and Grace walked in.

Danny had expected Steve to be waiting for them by the door, especially after Danny had texted him that things had gone well with Grace and that they were coming over.

“Hello?” he called out. “Steve? We're here!”

“Up here!” came the muffled reply from somewhere upstairs.

Quickly, Danny mentally went over the text message he'd sent Steve and yes, he had clearly stated that he was coming over _with_ Grace. No way to misinterpret that. So, Danny figured, Steve probably wasn't waiting for him naked on the bed like he had last night when Danny'd come home ( _home?_ ) from work.

Danny still tugged Grace behind him and made sure to head up the stairs first.

The bedroom door was closed. The door to Mary's old room stood wide open though. “Ste—“ Danny started to ask but the words got stuck in his throat when he saw Steve on a ladder in front of the window, messing around with the curtains. All Danny could think was concussion and vertigo and dizziness and _concussion!_

“What the hell are you doing up the—“

_Wait._ Curtains?

Danny's gaze flickered around the room. It was brighter than he remembered, seemed bigger, less cluttered. There was a flower border running along the wall.

Danny blinked his eyes. “What… What is all this?” he asked, gesturing around the room with weak, floppy hands.

“Wow,” Grace whispered reverently next to him.

Steve turned on the ladder and beamed at them. “You like it?” he asked casually and thankfully started climbing down the steps.

Danny's just gaped at him, his brain was having a hard time catching up. A lot of stuff had been cleared out of the room, some boxes and random things that Danny suspected Steve had put in here after he'd moved back into the house. The small desk and the antique looking wooden closet had been cleaned and emptied. The walls had been repainted, the bed frame revarnished. There was a brand new looking carpet in the middle of the room.

“Is this for me?” Grace asked, looking wide-eyed around the room.

Steve answered with another blinding, goofy smile. “I was bored,” he shrugged. “And… I talked to Mary and she said it's okay to move her stuff to the garage, so…” He lifted his shoulders again and glanced around the room.

This was insane.

Danny huffed, put on a smile. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he said, jerking his head to the door.

Steve gave him an innocent look. “Sure.”

Danny marched him first out of the room and then into the bedroom. He carefully, deliberately closed the door behind them. Balling his hands to fists, he turned to look at Steve.

“What the hell?” he hissed. “You were supposed to be resting, not remodeling your sister's room.”

He knew his voice was coming out too loudly, that Grace could probably hear him, but it felt so, so good to let his frustration out. What the hell was the idiot thinking? He could have broken his neck falling off that stupid ladder.

“I'm fine,” Steve claimed, infuriatingly, then smiled lopsidedly. “Besides, it's Gracie's room now.”

Right. That was just not— No! “See, that's another thing. Don't you think we should have talked about this first?”

Steve pouted at that. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” The 'I thought you'd be happier about this' went unspoken but Danny still got the message loud and clear.

“Okay, look.” He took a breath, calmed himself as much as he could. “I know you wanted to do something nice for her. And this is… really nice. It's a really wonderful gesture.” It was confusing and irritating just how fucking _nice_ this was. Because, if Danny would stop and think about it for a moment and not let that one part of his brain take over, the part that took everything positive that ever happened to him and only came up with ideas of how it all would end, how everything would just crash and burn, then maybe he could just give Steve a hug and a kiss and thank him for all this.

But Danny simply couldn't.

“But don't you think this is a little soon?” he asked. “I mean, I just told her that we're together an hour and a half ago, and now she's already got her own room at your place.”

Aneurysm face made a swift appearance. “I want her to feel at home here.”

“I know, babe. It's just… She's already got two rooms in two different houses,” Danny argued.

“So?”

“I'm afraid it'll be too much for her.”

_'Afraid, afraid',_ a voice mocked somewhere at the back of his mind.

“I don't want to pressure her or make her feel pressured to be okay with this, with us. She loves you and, right now, she says she's fine with us being together. But… this is a process. It might take her a little while to get used to this. I mean, it's all just hypothetical right now. And it's great that she likes the idea of us together but that doesn't necessarily mean that there are not gonna be bumps in the road. She— she hasn't really had any time to think about all this yet. And what if— what if she gets bullied at school when the other kids find out about this? What if she—“

“Hey,” Steve interrupted. He took Danny's hands in his, tugged him along as he moved a step toward the bed and sat down on it. He spread his legs, pulled Danny in to stand between them. “Take a breath,” he said calmly. “You're doing that thing again.”

Calloused thumbs rubbed gently over the backs of Danny's hands. “What thing?” he asked quietly.

“You're focussing on what could go wrong.”

Danny sighed. “I know.”

“Focus on us,” Steve suggested, squeezing Danny's hands in his large, warm ones. “Focus on the fact that we're all here, that we're all okay.”

Danny locked eyes with him. He really wanted to do just that.

“Yeah, you're right,” he said, the words almost getting stuck inside his throat.

Steve cocked his head to the side. “Okay?”

Danny nodded. “Okay.” He forced a smile, released a shaky breath. “Though I'm still mad at you for doing all this when you were supposed to be resting.”

“Will you forgive me if I tell you that I had help?”

“Help from whom?”

“Jerry. He did all the heavy lifting.”

“Huh.” Danny pursed his lips at him. “I'm not sure I believe that.”

Steve's mischievous smile was all the answer he needed.

But speaking of Jerry. “There's something else we need to talk about,” Danny said seriously. “Grace asked me if this was a secret.” He gave Steve's hands a squeeze to indicate what he meant by _this_. “I told her no. I know we said one step at a time but I don't want her to have to lie to people or— or feel like she can't talk to anybody if — _if_ — there are bumps.”

_If_ , he reminded himself again. He really, really didn't want to think about all the things that could go wrong. But there were so, so many of them.

“It's okay,” Steve said easily. “I absolutely agree with you.”

Danny raised surprised eyebrows at him. He had expected something else… something worse.

_'Afraid, afraid, afraid.'_

“That means that we'll have to tell some people,” Danny clarified, wondering if maybe Steve hadn't realized what not keeping this a secret actually entailed. “Like, obviously, the rest of the team. And maybe Max and Jerry and Kamekona. Oh, and what about the Governor?”

Shit. Could he even stay with Five-0 if he was sleeping with the boss?

“I didn't know Denning and Gracie were hanging out,” Steve joked.

Danny stared at him. “What if he's not okay with this?” He squeezed the hands in his own again, harder, more urgently this time. What the hell was wrong with Steve? Why was he so fucking chill about all this?

“Don't worry about it. I'll talk to him first thing on Monday if you want.”

“Why are you like this?” Danny asked.

“Like what?” Steve frowned.

“Why aren't you freaking out? I mean, it's not like you have ever, in the four years that we've known each other, mentioned that you're also into guys. I just would have expected that this part would be a bigger deal for you.”

Steve pulled Danny closer. He felt his shins collide with the bed frame. “You're doing it again. Picturing the worst possible outcome.”

“I'm not picturing anything,” Danny huffed, defensively. He didn't want to always let his mind go there.

“What are you afraid of?” Steve asked. To Danny's surprise, there was no accusation in the tone of his voice, no judgement, no annoyance. Only curiosity and concern and love.

Danny felt his chest tighten. He dragged in a painful breath. “I don't know,” he replied honestly because there were just so, so many things that could go wrong with this. How was he supposed to pick one? “What if they don't— What if they don't accept this, us? I mean, being supportive is one thing in theory. But not everyone is okay with it when it starts to actually affect their lives.“

“Are you listening to yourself? These are out friends we're talking about. Give them a little credit, would you?”

“You're right. You're right.” He was right. Steve was right. This was just that part of his head going on a crazy rampage. “But—“

“But?”

“But.” Danny huffed. He suddenly found it exhausting that Steve didn't seem to see any problems with the change in their relationship. As much as Danny wanted to just continue on as if they'd always been together, act as if this wasn't anything, that this was just their new normal, there _had_ to be complications somewhere down the road. Life, _his_ life, just wasn't ever that simple.

“Not everyone is always going to be accepting of us,” he argued.

“Anyone who's got a problem with us can come to me and I'll make them see the light.”

“The light?” Danny did a double take at that. “Like the light that goes off in their head when you punch them in the face?”

Steve's answer was a cocky grin.

Danny rolled his eyes at him. “Workplace relationships make everything complicated. I mean, it'd be a valid concern for any of them to have.”

“Our relationship is not going to affect our work,” Steve stated calmly. He sounded so sure. And yeah, maybe he knew, because he'd already done this with Catherine. And, to be fair, whenever they were on a case, Steve always got that laser focus. Danny had no doubt that their relationship would not affect that in any way. But still—

“You can't just decide that. It's not a choice, not when emotions are involved.”

“We'll work it out. We'll be fine.”

“I don't think it's that—“

“Danny.”

The tone of Steve voice had suddenly changed. It was still calm, still understanding. But there was an undercurrent of desperation now, too. And that undercurrent, it made Danny wonder for a brief moment if maybe he had already managed to screw this up. His heart dropped when one of Steve's hands let go of his.

“You have to give us a chance,” Steve said softly.

Danny almost sighed in relief when the hand curled around the back of his thigh.

“You're freaking out over how accepting other people might or might not be of us but— None of that matters if _you_ don't give us a chance.”

He was right. Of course he was right. Danny still couldn't bring himself to say it.

“Look,” Steve continued, glancing up at Danny with big, pale blue understanding eyes. “I know it's hard for you to stop your head from going there. You know, where this whole thing just blows up into our faces, where you end up sad and alone and heartbroken.”

Danny's breath hitched. “But?” he asked hopefully. There had to be a but. Steve had to have a way to fix this, to fix him.

Steve just shrugged. “I don't know,” he said quietly. It sounded like an apology. “I don't know how to make you look at this from a different perspective. I wish I knew because…” He paused, smiled sadly up at Danny. “I think if you'd let yourself, if you'd stop thinking about how it all could go wrong… then you could be really happy.”

Danny ached. That was all he wanted. Be happy, right here, with Steve.

“I wish I knew how to turn that part of my brain off,” he admitted. Then a thought crossed his mind and a hollow, painful chuckle ripped from deep inside his chest. “You know what would be ironic? If this is what gets between us. If we break up because you get sick of me for always—“

There words got stuck in his throat when Steve leaned his head forward and brushed a soft kiss against his hip.

The hand on Danny's thigh squeezed.

“I've listened to you complain for the past four years,” Steve murmured, resting his forehead against Danny's side. “I'm not getting sick of you.”

“I'm trying,” Danny whispered, promising. He didn't want this. Steve shouldn't have to listen to him complain all the time. They should be able to enjoy being together. Danny should be able to give that to him. “Maybe…” he said, hesitantly, “maybe I can mention this to Doc Palmer next week. Maybe she can help me figure out a way to— to deal with this.”

Steve looked up at him. The skin around his eyes crinkled with a smile. “Just— Make sure you don't take on too much at once, okay,” he said. “Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.”

Danny only nodded. He raised a hand, ran it gently through Steve's hair.

He didn't want to. He really tried hard not to. But for a moment, looking into Steve's eyes, all Danny could think about was his dead father. And Doris and Joe. Freddy, Jenna. North Korea and Afghanistan and the dry cleaner's. Catherine.

Danny trailed his fingers through the thick, soft hair again, along the fragile skull underneath. He stared at the scar on Steve's forehead, the mending crack. He wondered how that much pain could fit inside such a small place without constantly spilling over. And he wondered what would happen if, one day, it did. When it all just started to pour out…

“ _If he doesn't start working through it, it'll all spill over one day and trust me, it's gonna be ugly,”_ Lou's words echoed in Danny's head.

“Have _you_ ever considered talking to someone?” Danny asked carefully.

Steve turned his head away, averted his gaze to the floor.

“Hey,” Danny urged gently. “You can always talk to me, about everything. You know that, right?”

Steve shook his head. “I'm okay.”

The sigh Danny exhaled caught at the back of his throat. He raised up the hand that still held on to Steve's, brought it up to his mouth and gently pressed a kiss against the healing cut on the back of Steve's hand. The one he'd scratched open during the nightmare almost a week ago. “You're not,” Danny said softly.

“I'm trying to be.” Steve said. “I just need a little time.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Danny pulled their joined hands to his chest, over his heart. “To do what?” he asked, challenged, wanting Steve to admit that he was trying to block it all out, shove it all into his box, pretend none of it had ever happened.

“Danny,” Steve simply said, looking up at him with dark, stormy eyes. It was somewhere between a warning and a plea. Don't go there.

Danny ran his hand from Steve's hair down to his jaw, palming the side of his face carefully. “I know you're trying to forget, to shut it all away but…” He shrugged apologetically. “I'm not sure it's gonna work.”

“I've always been fine,” Steve insisted. And in a way, he was right. But it wasn't enough.

“I know,” Danny said. He smiled sadly down at Steve. “But I want you to be more than just fine. I want you to be happy, too. Goofily, stupidly happy. All the time. Not just in between nightmares.”

Steve mouth twisted. He pressed his lips to a thin line and frowned. It looked like he was trying to keep something inside.

Danny almost sighed in relief when Steve breathed out a shaky exhale after a beat.

“What if I can't be?” he asked. His voice was so soft, so quiet, Danny barely understood the words. “What if it's too much or… a part of who I am?” The frown on his face hardened, darkened. He dipped his head forward, closed his eyes. Unexpected tears ran down his cheeks. “What if I'm too messed up to be happy?”

Not letting go of the hand he still held to his chest, Danny sunk to his knees. Steve let his other hand fall to his side. Danny immediately missed the warmth against his thigh. He ducked his head to get into Steve downcast line of sight.

“I don't think you are,” he offered, hopeful.

Danny tried to wipe the wetness from Steve's face but more tears followed. Too many for him to catch.

His vision began to swim. He blinked his eyes to clear away his own tears. His heart ached. He couldn't imagine how someone could hurt so much that they were afraid to get better. How Steve could be so used to carrying all that pain with him, he was afraid he didn't know who he was or how to live without it anymore.

Danny stroke the wet cheek gently, pressed the hand firmer against his own chest.

“I think you can be happy and… you don't have to find out on your own,” he said. “You're not alone anymore and you haven't been in a long while. You don't have to be strong all the time anymore. You have a family and we'll always be here for you when you need us.”

Steve looked at him. And Danny could tell he wanted to believe him so much.

In that moment, Danny hated John and Doris McGarrett. Each in their own way, they had both abandoned Steve when he'd been just a kid. And Danny figured it was probably back then when all this had started. When Steve had begun to shut out his emotions, the pain... because losing one parent and being rejected by the other had been too much to deal with.

“No one is leaving you and no one is sending you away,” Danny whispered, needing to make Steve understand that this family was not going to leave him behind. “You said you're not going anywhere and neither am I.”

After a beat, Steve nodded. “I know,” he said quietly. He turned his head slightly, kissed the palm that still cradled the side of his face. Then he dipped his head forward. Danny met him halfway, pressing his forehead against Steve's.

Steve took in a deep breath and let it go slowly. A sad smile started to curve his lips. “I want to be stupidly happy with you,” he said.

Danny sighed, relieved. That right there was the first step. They both had a lot of work to do… but Danny knew that, together, they'd figure things out.

“Someday, we will be,” he promised.

  
  


**to be continued…**

 


	25. Chapter 25

##  **Someday**

Chapter 25

  
  


“Maybe we should just tell Kono. I'll call her right now. She'll have the rest of the island informed within an hour.”

Steve heaved an exasperated sigh and added the plate he'd been drying to the growing stack on the counter next to the sink.

“I hate making big announcements,” Danny lamented. He rinsed off the foam from the last couple of glasses and put them on the dish rack.

“It's not a big announcement,” Steve argued and slumped against the counter behind him. “It's dinner with our friends.”

Danny turned and grabbed the towel from him to dry his hands. “It'll be weird.”

God. They were the fucking picture of domesticity already, doing dishes together after dinner. Why did they have to tell people anything at all? Why couldn't everybody just take a hint?

Steve rolled his eyes. “It will not be weird. We'll just tell them and then it'll be like all the other times we've hung out together.” With a grin, he leaned forward, slid his hands under the hem of Danny's t-shirt and hooked both index finders through the belt loops on his jeans. “Only from now on, I get to do this—“ he yanked, pulling Danny in between his legs until they were almost chest to chest “—whenever I want.”

“Oh, we're not—“

Danny's objections were cut off by a hand at the back of his head, fingers grabbing hair there and angling his head up for a kiss.

He dropped the dish towel. Open mouths pressed against each other, he stood up on his toes and used his body to push Steve back into the counter he was leaning against. Steve let out a small, surprised sound. Danny took advantage of the distraction to slide his tongue in, diving into the heat of Steve's mouth.

They battled for dominance, with their tongues as much as the rest of their bodies. But all it took was a small, precisely aimed cant of Danny's hips to make Steve gasp and surrender.

Sometimes, his disadvantage in height came in really handy.

“Not fair,” Steve breathed when Danny pulled away eventually.

Danny wasn't sure what exactly he was complaining about, the attack or its sudden cessation. It didn't really matter, though. He leaned in to drop a quick kiss to the healing cut in Steve's bottom lip.

“As I was saying,” Danny murmured against his mouth, “we're not doing this in front of anybody.”

Steve hummed, bumped his nose against Danny's. Hands curled around Danny's hips as he pressed a soft, wet-lipped kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Not even this?” he asked.

“We can discuss that,” Danny allowed graciously.

“Yeah?”

He tapped a finger against Steve's stubbly chin. “I might need another sample. Just to be sure what exactly we're discussing.”

“Danno! It's starting!” Grace suddenly yelled from the living room.

Right. Danny dropped his head against Steve's collarbone. “I don't think I'm mentally prepared to watch a movie called '27 Dresses',” he whined.

With a chuckle and a pat to his side, Steve wiggled his way out from in between Danny and the counter. “Grab some snacks, make some popcorn. Take as much time as you need,” he said, walking backwards to the kitchen door. “I got you covered.”

With a thumbs-up and a grin, Steve disappeared into the living room.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Danny was biting down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out the name of the man below him over and over again.

Steve just lay there, with Danny straddling his hips, kiss-swollen lips slightly parted, sweat-glistening chest heaving as he panted out short breaths. His intense eyes focussed on Danny like nothing else in the universe even existed.

Their hands moved up and down in perfect synchrony, clasped together around their flushed, hard cocks.

Danny used his free hand to rub and pinch Steve's nipple. The hand curled around his thigh squeezed tight in response, fingernails biting into sensitive skin.

Tingling, sparkling heat pooled in Danny's groin. He felt himself reaching that point, that precipice where going slower, drawing things out stopped being an option, where all there was was faster and tighter and more, more, more.

“Come on,” he urged, increasing the speed of their pumping hands, squeezing to press their erections firmer, closer together.

Steve came suddenly, with a twitch of his leg and a jerk of his hips that almost threw Danny off balance.

Danny steadied himself with the hand on Steve's chest.

He whimpered when Steve stilled their combined hands. White light exploded behind his eyes and he came hard when a thumb rubbed firmly over the touch-neglected, over-sensitized head of his dick.

He hissed, bit back a cry, moaned Steve's name.

Exhausted, spent, he let himself sink down onto Steve.

The heaving of their chests, their panting breathing harmonized. Danny buried his face into the side of Steve's neck.

Strong arms wrapped around his body, a hand settled over his shoulder blade, soft, gentle fingers stroked lightly along his spine. Danny felt like he was sinking deeper, melting into Steve's warm body.

“Please tell me we were quiet,” he mumbled into the pillow, afraid to hear the answer.

Steve let out a low, breathless chuckle, his whole body vibrated underneath Danny. “Quiet enough, I think.”

The fingertips dancing across his back left tingling little sparks in their wake. Danny shivered, sighed.

“It's your fault if she heard us,” he decided and turned his head a little, nosed Steve's earlobe. “You didn't happen to sound-proof her room when you renovated, did you?”

Steve snorted at that, or maybe because Danny was tickling him. “Small oversight,” he admitted.

With a sigh, Danny eventually pushed himself up again. His still folded legs were going numb, his knees was starting to twinge from the straining position. Steve made a sound of protest and tried to hold him where he was.

“Sorry,” Danny murmured, rolling over to lie curled into Steve's side, head resting on his shoulder, legs entwined in each other. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulled him in even closer, held him. All night seemed like too short a time to lie here like this, messy and sweaty and perfect.

Danny slowly ran a hand over Steve's sticky chest, careful to avoid the healing burns. They were still raised and red and not disappearing fast enough. Danny let his finger trace to outline one of the marks on his abdomen. Steve's stomach sank in as he inhaled a sharp breath. Danny pulled his fingers away, looked up to him. Steve's gaze was fixed on the fingers hovering above the wound.

“You okay, babe?” Danny asked quietly. “Did I hurt you?”

Steve didn't answer, he simply reached up and wrapped a hand around Danny's fingers, squeezing them briefly.

“I—“ he said but didn't continue. Instead, he moved their hands.

Danny could barely make out the small, penny-sized patch of slightly discolored skin in the dimly lit room. It was an old, faded scar high on Steve's abdomen, off center, just below the ribcage. Danny remembered the injury that had left the mark behind. Almost three years ago, North Korea, cattle-prod.

Wo Fat.

Steve pressed Danny's finger to the mark and then let go of his hand. “The skin is numb here,” he explained, his voice low and soft. “He— The nerves were destroyed.”

Danny ran his fingers reverently over the faint scar and the surrounding skin, grateful Steve had decided to share this with him. He took it as a small sign of growing, solidifying trust; another small step.

“I will never feel you there.”

Danny froze at the words, his breath caught in his lungs. His heart broke at the sadness in Steve's voice.

It was such a small hurt, nearly insignificant. And yet… Even though Danny didn't experience it, could only imagine what the absence of sensation felt like, he did feel the ache, the enormity of the irrecoverable loss somewhere deep inside himself, like a symbol for everything Wo Fat had taken from Steve, from them.

Angry tears pickled in his eyes.

Danny hoped the bastard was burning in hell.

“Don't,” Steve said quietly. His arm tightened around Danny. “Don't think about him right now.”

Looking up, meeting Steve's eyes, Danny could only shrug helplessly. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Guiding his hand once again, Steve rested Danny's palm against his chest, splayed their fingers over his heart. Danny felt the strong beat underneath. It sang _alive, alive, alive_ inside his head.

“It's just skin,” Steve said. “None of it matters as long as I can feel you in here. No one can ever take that away.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Danny repeated the promise he'd made earlier.

“Neither am I,” Steve said.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


“Are you sure that's such a good idea?”

Danny followed the sound of Steve's voice out to the lanai. It was still early and, for once, Grace wasn't up yet.

He sat just outside the double doors with his phone still pressed to his ear. The ringing had woken them both a little while ago. Steve had quickly pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt before he'd answered the call. At Danny's questioning frown, he'd mouthed 'Aunt Deb' and then headed out of the bedroom, probably assuming that Danny wanted to go back to sleep.

He'd tried for about a minute. But Aunt Deb had a brain tumor. Thankfully, she'd decided to fight and start treatment. But still, a call from her this early on a Saturday had great potential for being bad news.

“No, I'd love to see you, I'm just worried about you.”

Danny went to sit in the basket chair next to Steve's. They exchanged a quick smile before he let his gaze drift out to the ocean.

“No, I get that. I just want you to be sure that it isn't too much for you.”

Steve sighed, resigned. “I'll be there, I promise.

“I love you,” he added after a pause.

Danny smiled, grateful that Steve still had his Aunt Deb and that she'd decided to do her damnedest to stay in his life.

“Everything okay?” he asked when Steve ended the call.

Steve frowned at the phone in his hands. “She— she wants to go on a cruise.” He looked up, his expression one of horrified confusion. “With her new boyfriend.”

Danny couldn't help but laugh out loud at that. Part of it was relief. “Good for her,” he commented, glad she was feeling well enough to travel and that she'd found someone to be happy with and to help her fight the disease.

“Good?” Steve gaped at him. “This is—“ He clamped his mouth shut, huffed frustratedly. “She's on her third round of chemo. She's got no business being on a ship in the middle of the Pacific.”

“I'm sure she's gonna wait until after the treatments,” Danny reasoned.

The expression on Steve's face remained stubbornly pinched.

“Hey, let her enjoy life for a little while. She's earned it.”

At that, Steve irritation deflated a bit. He sank back into his chair with a sigh.

“I know you're worried about her, but I'm sure she's not doing this against her doctor's advice,” Danny added.

Steve pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side, considering his words.

“I'm assuming she's coming here?”

Steve confirmed that with an absent hum.

“Good. Then, while you get to know her new boyfriend, she can meet yours.”

Steve frowned. He clearly didn't think it was funny. “She's met you,” he said.

Danny rolled his eyes at him. “So, you're gonna tell her about us when she gets here?”

The annoyed frown morphed into an apologetic one. “I kind of already did,” he admitted, a little sheepish.

Danny stared wide-eyed at the phone Steve was still cradling in his hands. “What, just now?” he asked. “Over the phone?”

Didn't Steve get that there was, like, a whole school of etiquette to this coming out thing? The internet had a lot of helpful advice.

“Yeah, why?” Steve asked defensively.

“You couldn't wait 'til she gets here and tell her in person that you— that you're—“ He paused, rolled his hand, not sure which of the many terms he'd also found online applied to Steve.

“Bi?” Steve suggested helpfully.

“Yes, that,” Danny agreed.

“She knows,” Steve said as if the idea that she didn't know was entirely inconceivable.

“She knows?”

Steve sighed, annoyed again. “I was young and confused and about to join the Navy. I needed someone to talk to,” he said matter of factly.

“Huh.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Danny shook his head. God, there was so much about Steve he didn't know yet. “What about your parents? Do they— did they— do they—”

“No,” Steve simply said, cutting Danny's grammatical struggle short.

Danny raised a questioning eyebrow at him, silently asking him to elaborate.

Steve made a face but explained anyway. “Doris disappeared before I had things figured out and dad…” He averted his gaze to the ocean. The sigh he let out sounded regretful. “Dad and I weren't exactly close after, so…” He shrugged, shook his head. “It didn't come up the few times we spoke.”

“Mary?” Danny asked carefully, feeling a little like he was pushing his luck.

“I don't know,” Steve said, shoulders twitching up again. “We never talked about it but… maybe she suspects.”

Danny bit his lip. He suddenly got the distinct impression that Steve really didn't want to talk about this. Maybe because it was an uncomfortable subject, maybe because he didn't want to think about the family that was so absent from his life. Whatever the reason, Danny was left wondering if maybe this was Steve making a conscious effort to be open with him, if he should feel guilty for exploiting the gesture so shamelessly to satisfy his own curiosity.

“What about you,” Steve's voice cut through Danny's thoughts. “You planning to fly back home to tell your parents _in person_?”

_Home._ Danny's mind stumbled over the word.

“Danny?”

“I'll tell 'em when the Mahone appeal goes to court. I'll have to head back to Jersey to testify then anyway.” Which was a joke, really, because what the hell did anyone expect him to remember about that case anyway?

Steve stared at him. “That could take months.”

Danny shrugged. Honestly, he was in no rush to tell his parents. “It's not like they don't have other things on their mind these days,” he said quietly.

Steve smiled sadly, understanding.

He got up then, stood in front of Danny. “Come here,” he said, holding out both hands to him.

Danny accepted the offer, let himself be pulled to his feet.

“Forgot something this morning.” Steve slowly slid his hands up Danny's arms, over his shoulders and then cupped his face. Tilting Danny's mouth up, Steve leaned down and kissed him softly.

“Morning.”

For about half a second Danny waited for Steve to add 'kiss.' But then his brain caught up and he realized that, a, Steve's mouth was still too occupied to speak and, b, that hadn't been Steve's voice he'd heard.

_Shit,_ Grace.

In an irrational flash of panic, Danny pushed Steve away and pulled back at the same time.

“Woah,” Steve yelped, half in surprise, half because Danny stumbled into the chair behind him.

Grace squeaked.

“You okay?” Steve asked when Danny got his bearings. His tone was laced with concern but there was an amused smirk on his face.

“Fine,” Danny huffed self-consciously. “I just—“ He glanced over to Grace. She was looking at him like he'd grown a second head. “You just startled me.”

Grace raised a skeptical eyebrow. She must have learned that expression from her mother. “Sorry?” she asked.

“It's fine, it's not— not your fault,” he said, waving a hand dismissively in her direction.

She exchanged a doubtful look with Steve and then glanced back to Danny. “You know you can kiss when I'm in the room,” she said seriously.

“I know,” Danny said quickly, not sure how to deal with that announcement. Steve was no help. The idiot simply shot him a challenging look.

“Good,” Grace decided. “I'll set the table for breakfast,” she then said and disappeared inside the house.

Danny stared after her for a moment, wondering what the hell just happened.

“What was that all about?” Steve echoed his thoughts.

“She gets that from her mother,” Danny said defensively. He knew he could talk a lot… but the excessive bluntness was definitely something they could blame on Rachel.

“No, I mean you,” Steve said and studied Danny with an amused but quizzical smile. “You almost broke your neck when she walked in on us.”

“I did not,” Danny argued because Steve was clearly exaggerating. “I just— She startled me.”

“You sure that's all it was?”

Danny huffed out a breath. “Excuse me if I don't want my daughter to see me making out with anyone. It's not about you, it's a general thing.” Grace was not supposed to know that kissing was fun, after all. Especially not after she'd had _the talk_ with Rachel.

“It was a kiss, Danny,” Steve said and then shrugged. “I'm gonna want to kiss you when she's around.”

Danny sighed. Steve had a point. “I know. I just— I want to make sure she really is okay with this.” He paused and reached out a hand. Steve met him halfway, interlacing their fingers. “I really need her to be okay with this,” Danny added, squeezing the large, warm hand in his.

Steve nodded. “I think she is.”

Danny thought so, too. It all just felt a little too good to be true.

He shot Steve an apologetic look. “I'm sorry. I—“

“It's okay,” Steve cut him off and then shook his head. “Don't ever apologize for looking out for her.”

Danny felt his breath catch. Because that right there was one of the many reasons why he was in love with this stupid goof.

  
  


» » » » »

  
  


Hours later, Danny stood once again in the same spot. The yard was filled with family and he was happy to just stand there and watch everyone for a few moments. Steve and Lou had disappeared into the garage a little while ago to look at the Marquis, discuss repairs. Chin, Adam and Jerry were talking around the grill. Grace and Samantha sat by the water. Max and Kamekona had apparently decided to settle their earlier debate over the health benefits or detriments of excessive shrimp consumption via mediation by Kono.

Everything was still the same. And yet, everything was different now.

The telling everyone part had gone over surprisingly anticlimactic. At first, anyway. Until Lou had decided to let everyone know that he'd already _known._ At Danny's eye-roll and Steve's question of how he could possibly have known, Lou had simply nodded at his daughter. Grace's deer in the headlights expression and muttered “You said it wasn't a secret,” had explained the rest.

Kono had been pissed about being the “the last to know, unbelievable, you're dead to me!” and had punched both Danny and Steve in the arm.

But that had been and remained the worst of it. Everyone (including Kono) was happy for them.

Watching them, his hodgepodge family, Danny couldn't help but think of his other family. Mom and dad. His sisters. Matty.

He would have loved to have his brother here with him, have him get to know everyone, be a part of his ohana.

“Hey.”

Kono's voice startled him.

She stood next to him, bumping her shoulder against his. “You okay?”

Danny glanced over at her, took in a deep breath. It eased the constricting ache around his heart a little. “I was just… thinking about Matt,” he said. “He— I think he would have liked you guys.”

Kono smiled fondly and nodded. “I wish I'd gotten the chance to meet him.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Danny said and shook his head. He huffed out a laugh when he pictured Matty and Kono. It would have been an absolute disaster. “He probably would have hit on you.”

Kono snorted. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. He was the actual worst. Stupidest pick-up lines you've ever heard and an ego bigger than the Empire State Building but…” Danny paused, licked his lips. Because underneath all that had been… an amazing guy. “He just had this way with people, you know,” he added quietly, feeling sadness and faint anger bloom once again inside his chest. “He could charm anyone. Women, clients… drug traffickers.”

“Hey,” Kono said, bumping into him again. “At least Steve got to meet him.”

Danny shot her a squinty-eyed, sideways look, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “You think you're being subtle but you're actually not.”

Kono rolled her eyes but smiled again. “I'll try to be less transparent the next time I wanna distract you from thinking too much about your brother.”

“Huh.” Danny regarded her thoughtfully. “And here I thought you wanted to give me a hard time — _again —_ for not telling you sooner that Steve and I are together.”

Danny thought it was weird how unsurprised he was by how… normal it suddenly felt to say that.

Kono made a dismissive gesture with her hand and shrugged. “I'm over that,” she said. “I'm really happy for you.”

With a cant of her hips, she turned to face him. Her expression turned serious. “You're okay, right?”

Danny looked out to the ocean. “Working on it,” he said, thinking about everything that had happened during the last two weeks. “We both are.”

“Good,” Kono decided.

Danny turned his head to look at her when her breath hitched and she sniffled.

He watched her with a raised eyebrow. “Are you… crying?”

“No,” Kono said stubbornly and then pressed her lips together to stop them from quivering.

“No?” Danny asked, amused.

Kono shrugged helplessly. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I don't know what's happening, okay,” she said and huffed out a few breaths. It sounded like she was laughing. “I just can't— I can't stop,” she added and then shook with a mix of hiccuping sobs and giggles.

Danny laughed with her.

“I'm sorry,” Kono chortled, wiping at her now wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “These are happy tears,” she explained. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny told her with a dismissive shrug. “Happy-cry all you want.”

Kono blubbered out a laugh.

“What's going on over here?”

Steve was suddenly standing in front of them. Danny hadn't noticed him coming over.

He smiled at Steve and Kono gurgled beside him.

“I don't know,” she said and then bit her lip to try and compose herself. She failed miserably.

“I'm gonna—“ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I'm gonna go grab a drink,” she announced and then turned and walked away. Danny wasn't sure she'd make it all the way to the cooler before dropping into a giggly puddle on the ground.

“What was that all about?” Steve asked, looking after Kono for a moment with a confused frown on his face.

Danny shook his head, still smiling. “I have no idea.”

Steve gaze shifted to him. He easily moved into Danny's space and sneaked both arms around his waist, pulling him in even closer.

Danny curled his hands around Steve's elbows, holding him where he stood.

“You okay?” Steve asked, a small, quizzical smile curving his lips.

Danny inhaled a deep breath, let out a content sigh. He felt Steve's warmth underneath his hands. Their friends' voices drifted all around them. Grace was laughing somewhere close by. Kono sounded like she was choking.

Danny wanted to freeze time.

“I've never been better.”

  
  


**The End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it. Ending the story here feels a little like cheating because this is not an ending, it’s a beginning. But then, that was kind of the whole point of this. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


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